The Most Important Part of My Life
by NotAContrivance
Summary: Ultimately, the way Charlotte and Ricky Collins happen is a lot like one of his speeches: meandering and indirect, and so maddening she just wants to scream at him to get to the point, full of lots of words that don't seem to mean half as much as what they don't say. And it's her duty to simplify, to divine his meaning and condense it. LBD-verse, post-97 and post-series.
1. How Charlotte Lu Spent her 25th Birthday

So, I've been more or less writing this since episode 98, kind of about what I wished Charlotte did and what she was feeling while Lizzie and Darcy were having their talk and presumably going out? And then I went back at it with a fury because the endings for Charlotte and Ricky really did not satisfy me or in my opinion make much sense (I did want to avoid mentioning that at all in the fic, but I kind of had to. Spoilers for all the episodes, by the way), and it's been kind of off and on for the past month until I decided this weekend that I absolutely had to finish it. So it's probably a little all over the place, and it's long (I blame Ricky, who makes everything longer), and I'm not sure if anyone's going to read this or what anyone will make of it, but I kind of felt I owed it to Charlotte.

Because basically all throughout the show, I kind of gave Charlotte a _lot_ of crap, mostly because her life is the most like my own, and I feel better when I compare my life to hers because my life is unequivocally better than hers. Sad but true. And I feel a bit bad for that. The more I thought about it, the more I thought that Charlotte deserved to have someone really tell her story because Charlotte is not in a whole lot of fics and mostly not in a serious way... and most of the time when she's in a story, it's her in relation to her friendship with Lizzie or her perspective on Lizzie/Darcy... and not much in the way of Charlotte's own life. So she's kind of a secondary character in her own life, which is the way she likes it and also really sad.

And then the other part of that is that I kind of wanted to get at some of the realistic aspects of careers and real life that the show kind of glosses over or pretends don't exist because, well, it can't have all been so easy for Charlotte work-wise, not to mention having a friend like Lizzie. Which, like, the story's not entirely about that, and what it's actually about is something I'm dancing around and not mentioning at all, but having a friend who sparkles and who is funny and pretty and the life of the party and everything just seems to come so easily for, when you bust your ass for everything and don't have a lot... well, it's frustrating, and no matter how much you love them, you can't help but be a little bit envious. And, well, in conclusion, I wanted to give Charlotte some kind of happy ending, or at least show that she's on her way towards one, because her being her own boss isn't exactly enough for me (I mean, let's be honest, do you think being head of Collins and Collins is really what Charlotte wants in life? I'm not wholly convinced).

Anyway, in summation, this is post-Episode 98 of LBD, spoilers for all the episodes. It focuses on Charlotte and Ricky and feelings because they're so overlooked it makes me sad. Sorry it's kind of a mess. I own nothing, neither LBD or Pride and Prejudice proper or anything else you see referenced. Review if you want, and I will greatly appreciate it. Hope you like it!

* * *

Charlotte Lu smiled as she took the Chinese food from the deliveryman, handing him the money in exchange. Darcy had arrived a minute or so before the food. Though Charlotte was dying to peek in or eavesdrop on the conversation currently going on in the den, she restrained herself. Lizzie would tell her all about it later, and if she was still filming (and why wouldn't she be, unless she wanted to prevent Darcy and herself from making a sextape of their very own?), there would be footage for her to edit later. Still, Charlotte's smile fell a little as she made her way to the Bennet kitchen and opened the take-out bag. She set one of the fortune cookies on the table and went to the counter to get a plate.

She had wanted to spend her birthday with Lizzie, as she always did, but Charlotte didn't resent Darcy for stealing her away. After the year Lizzie had and all the confusing feelings she'd been dealing with on her own for the past couple of months, she deserved it, and Charlotte wasn't going to begrudge her this second chance just because it was their birthday. Lizzie had put her happiness and their friendship before so much in her own life, the same way she always did, and Charlotte couldn't think of anyone who deserved her happy ending more.

Charlotte was, perhaps, more certain than anyone that Darcy was going to make Lizzie very happy. Probably more certain than either halves of the soon-to-be couple were right now, she mused with a wry expression. She took an egg roll out and debated leaving Lizzie the soup, but she decided soon enough that there wasn't really any point. Presumably even Darcy was not so clueless that this conversation wouldn't end in him taking Lizzie out to dinner or ordering something for her. So Charlotte suppressed a sigh and grabbed a Post-It and a pen from the refrigerator door.

_Lizzie,_

_Went home. Figured you two could use the privacy. :) I left you a fortune cookie and an egg roll because I figured your friend would take you out some place nicer (in case he hasn't suggested it yet, this is me telling you to feed my friend, Darcy). You can and __will__ tell me all about it later._

_Love,_

_Char xoxo_

Charlotte surveyed the note with some satisfaction before replacing the pen. She debated where to put the note for a moment but ultimately chose to set it on the table next to the lonely-looking egg roll on its big, white glossy plate. If the talk with Darcy went poorly, which was more of a possibility than Charlotte really wanted to consider, especially given how abysmally the man expressed himself verbally, then Lizzie would be very sad and lonely indeed. But Charlotte doubted it. The man was still very much besotted, and if Lizzie was anything more than indifferent, their getting together was inevitable.

As much as Charlotte wanted to listen at the door, she managed to avoid doing so and continued on her way out of the house, Chinese in hand. As she drove to her parents' apartment, she tried not to imagine what was going on in the den. It was only when Charlotte was home, sitting on the couch eating honey walnut shrimp and watching the costume drama she'd intended to watch with Lizzie, that she allowed herself to be a little disappointed. Maria was away at school, and her parents were gone for the weekend, and Charlotte couldn't help but feel a bit... forgotten. Lizzie's family was like her own, in their way, but even they were too busy for her.

She hadn't wanted to spend her birthday like this. Alone and sitting on her parents' couch eating only passably decent Chinese while watching a movie that wasn't even to her tastes.

It reminded her a bit too much of her life now. Every day she came home to her studio apartment hours later than she wanted to, too exhausted to do much more than kick off her shoes, halfway undress as she ate dinner from whatever chain restaurant she decided to stop at, and watch public television. All she did was work, and when she wasn't working, she was dreaming about gourds and Catherine de Bourgh's criticism and Mr. Collins' typical oversoliticitousness. Sometimes, in her lower moments, when she looked at her life and realized how pathetic it was, she thought that Lizzie had been right. She worked for hours and hours despite the benefits, and she was still living in a studio apartment in a neighborhood that was just all right despite all the money she was making. She was getting plenty of money and experience and growth potential, but Charlotte couldn't help but wonder if it was it worth it.

She didn't feel like she was growing all of the time. She felt like she was in some kind of arrested development, becoming an adult overnight. She'd thought this was what she wanted... a serious life with a real job and an apartment all her own hours from home. She was on her way to becoming another yuppie who worked for a tech start-up. Only twenty-five and in upper management already. Charlotte should've been on top of the world, living the dream.

Even if most of her job was still bitchwork or managing pompous personalities and coddling egos. Even if her job was ridiculous, and she wasn't a real partner because her name wasn't on the damned company, and her boss-slash-partner was a joke, and their company... made corporate instructional videos on how to make lightbulbs (oh, sorry, _illumination globes_ in Collins-speak), among other things. Oh, and she hadn't been on a date in years and had no social life to speak of.

She sank back into the couch and hung her head, hit by an uncharacteristic fit of profound dissatisfaction. This was one of those moments when she secretly admitted to herself that Lizzie was right. Charlotte made it work as best as she could, but the work was still beneath her, even if she had loans to pay. She wasn't sure she was learning anything, or if that contract even was something she could get out of. She _still_ wasn't working on her own stuff, and she barely even had time to help Lizzie out with the Diaries anymore (the Diaries hadn't felt well and properly hers for quite some time now). And sometimes she looked at her life and wondered if there was ever a light at the end of the tunnel, or if she'd just be being Collins' back-up for the rest of her life. It certainly seemed interminable.

Sometimes Charlotte wished she could afford to be as idealistic as Lizzie. Everything always ended up working out in the end for her. But things like that didn't happen for girls like her, and Charlotte knew why. She was too logical, too hardworking, too willing to settle and put up with a little unpleasantness. She didn't have big, creative, colorful ideas like Lizzie did. She wasn't fun or flirty in that completely unknowing and self-deprecating way Lizzie was, the arch way that made just about every man she met captivated. She didn't say no or stop putting up with crap, either.

And, more than any of that, Charlotte was too afraid, too scared to go after what she wanted or to take the necessary steps to have that kind of life. Charlotte Lu, twenty-five, independent, successful career woman, and still too terrified to really live. Maybe she just didn't want it enough.

Charlotte sighed, pausing the movie, and got up to get some wine from the kitchen. She'd meant to bring it over with the movie and was now glad she'd forgotten it. She wondered idly while filling a wine-glass more than halfway if there was any ice cream in the fridge. She was, after all, throwing herself a pity-party, right? Charlotte picked up the glass and downed about half of it in one long, well-needed sip, and headed back into the living room, wineglass in one hand, bottle in the other.

She flopped down onto the couch indelicately, the wine swirling in her glass menacingly, wishing she could bring herself to care. Here's hoping twenty-five is better than twenty-four, she thought, holding up the glass in a mock-toast to, well, no one. She didn't have much time for wishes because, if she did, she was afraid they'd overwhelm her. She wanted more than her eyes could eat, or however the expression went when you wanted more than you could ever possibly have.

She wanted not to be jealous of Lizzie, not to resent her happiness just a little bit despite the love. She wanted not to have to live vicariously through her best friend. She wanted to do more than work, to have a life. She wanted to be the boss. She wanted to be the heroine of her own story, rather than the best friend or a minor character who serves as a plot device for getting the heroine where she needs to be.

Mostly, though, as of late, she just wanted not to be quite so alone.

Hence why she'd turned up on Lizzie's doorstep in the rain bearing movies, and why she used Lizzie's life, videos, and recent lack of spirits (yes, that was the best way to put it. Mopeyness, guilt-ridden behavior, and pining all might've suited) to distract her from her own sadness and the empty feeling that wouldn't go away. That hollow feeling in her stomach like she wasn't doing anything worthwhile at all or going anywhere. Misery did love company.

Charlotte hardly noticed she'd polished off her first glass of wine until she was pouring the second one, already feeling flushed. The movie isn't really that good, not her usual thing, but the wine and walnuts make it a bit better. There isn't enough shrimp, of course, because there's never enough shrimp, but it tastes fishy and rubbery today. Feeling a bit guilty, Charlotte tweeted Lizzie, amusing herself in this way for a few minutes before Darcy came back from the bathroom or whatever it was that enabled Lizzie to tweet back.

And it should surprise no one at all that her phone rang well into her fourth glass of wine. Charlotte suppressed a sigh and leaned across the table to pick up her phone. It was Mr. Collins, of course. Who else would it be? It wasn't as if men were banging down her door. Charlotte rolled her eyes, staring at the picture of his wide-eyed, almost mad grin for a moment and debating whether or not to answer it. She wasn't sure she was in the mood to deal with him and another one of his stupid questions. But, as always, staring into those puppy eyes of his made her cave and click to accept the call. She supposed it _could_ be important, after all.

"Miss Lu!" the bright, cheery voice of her business partner chirped, loud as ever. Charlotte tried not to cringe; even on her birthday, she was _Miss Lu_! At least it meant that he respected her and took her seriously, even if he more often than not foisted menial, intensely time-consuming (and, quite frankly, beneath her) tasks on her. She wondered how he could be so damn chipper all the time and so unaware of his own ridiculousness. Ricky's lack of self-awareness has long boggled her mind, though, and she hardly expected to understand now.

"What is it _now_, Collins?" she demanded a bit more harshly than usual. Her frustration and weariness showed through in the way she dragged it out. She was normally more respectful, but a quick glance at the clock told her it was half-past eight at night. Not exactly office hours, even for a workaholic like Mr. Collins. Her voice came out hoarse. I'm off the clock, she just about said. The words, however, got stuck in her throat midway, so she just swallowed them down hard.

Ricky faltered, and when he did speak again, it was considerably less buoyant, a bit subdued, deflated almost. She almost felt bad, but he was calling her on her birthday about _work_. And, sadly, apparently she had nothing better to do than pick up unthinkingly, because God knows the man could scarcely tie his own shoes without her help. The alcohol was apparently making her cranky rather than relaxed. "I, erm..." He paused long enough for Charlotte to roll her eyes in wonder. Ricky Collins silent or struggling with words was enough to stupefy anyone who knew him. He almost sounded nervous, but she couldn't tell if it was actually that or just the familiar strain of nervous puppy I-just-want-you-to-like-me in his voice. "I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, Miss Lu."

And then she really did feel bad, because his voice was kind of quiet and more serious. He almost sounded a little disappointed. She blinked. She had not expected this. A tweet or something like that, perhaps, if he even remembered, but hardly a phone call. Her throat felt very dry all of a sudden. "I..." She didn't know what to say to him for the first time in a long while. She _always_ knows what to say to him. "Thank you," she managed eventually, unable to conceal her surprise. She isn't quite smiling, but it's close enough. It was nice that someone remembered, even if that person was Collins, and he would undoubtedly give some long rambling speech that would be more about himself than her virtues. At least he was predictable like that.

"You're welcome," he replied politely. She could almost see him rocking back and forth onto his toes. Ricky was a ball of nervous energy at best, and it only got worse when she wasn't around to moderate. "I hope you and Miss Bennet are enjoying your joint celebration, perhaps at that local bar, Carter's?" he added a moment later, after clearing his throat. There's something ridiculously hopeful in his tone, and she hates it irrationally, because of course he's really asking about Lizzie. Like the way he hung around her wasn't totally obvious, and it wasn't similarly obvious that he wasn't completely out of his league and depth with her.

Charlotte let out a rather bitter, undignified snort. It was so easy for them to ditch each other, easier than it would've been in the past. She and Lizzie both do a great job of pretending, but their friendship isn't really the same as it once was. They talk and see each other less, and they keep things from each other, and nothing's like the way they used to do it. So they're less close. She still loves Lizzie like a sister; she can't not, but sisterly affection waxes and wanes. Charlotte tried not to roll her eyes or to say, as she was dying to, "Do you really think I would answer my phone if I was at Carter's?"

Even four glasses of wine, apparently, were not enough to make her neglect the persistent calls of one Mr. Richard Collins. Yes, she knows how pathetic that is, but the truth remains that she probably wouldn't have answered her phone if she was with Lizzie. It isn't like she has many close friends besides Lizzie, her sisters, and Maria. And apparently Ricky... sometimes. Maybe. Although she wasn't really sure they'd ever had a _real_ conversation about anything.

"Something like that," Charlotte muttered, wondering if she slurred her words at all and caring less and less as the seconds stretched by. Every conversation with Ricky felt like a small eternity. "We're not celebrating together," she said shortly. She heard his startled sucked-in breath, feels the question ready to roll off his tongue, and she shut her eyes, resting a hand against her forehead. She's going to be very hungover tomorrow, because the headache has already started.

Or maybe it's just a Collins-induced headache; she doesn't know yet. "She's probably got her tongue halfway down Darcy's throat right about now, if they haven't gotten a room already," she found herself all but snapping. She sounded so bitter and uncharitable it made her wince.

But, as happy as she is for Lizzie, and she really is... a part of her is also somewhat annoyed and mad at Darcy because he's stolen this day from her, from them. March 17th has always been Lizzie and Charlotte's special day, theirs and theirs alone. If Lizzie and Darcy last (and how can they not?), it'll be _their_ big day, not hers and Lizzie's. They'll do things to celebrate their anniversary, and Charlotte will forever have to make other plans or awkwardly tag along or be squeezed in before whatever Darcy has planned. It's a depressing thought. When they'd both been single, there was a nice constancy in that, in knowing that neither of them would ever be that friend who forgot all about her girlfriends whenever she was in a relationship. But now, well, now she's not quite so sure.

She knew neither of them were really that kind of people, certainly not the kind to jump into things, but Charlotte also knew that she'd be all over someone if she had any options at all. But, no, her birthday was to be spent spent talking to Ricky Collins, who was either calling because he wanted something or to inquire about Lizzie or maybe, just maybe, on the off-chance that he pitied her. Charlotte sighed, running a hand over her brow.

Collins made some sound like he was choking on his saliva. She'd probably offended his delicate sensibilities, not that she cares. He stammered out some response, and she felt bad that she'd probably just crushed any hope he had left of wooing Lizzie—because, well, who could compete with a guy like Darcy? But Collins surprised her yet again. "I'm sorry to hear that." He knew they always celebrated together, as he should, having been to countless joint birthday parties. "Well, it must be nice to be home, then," he said pleasantly, trying to salvage it.

Charlotte looked around the cramped apartment devoid of family or many decorations and suppressed a snort. She might as well be back in her own apartment. She was equally alone there. "You can stop with the pleasantries, Ricky. It's my birthday. I'm alone," she said bluntly, massaging one of her temples. Collins was silent on the other end, speechless, which was rare indeed. Charlotte never called him by his first name, and she didn't even realize she'd slipped up until after she said it. She was always very careful to avoid that and adhere to his rules, maintaining the professional distance that might've been lacking otherwise. It was always _Mister_ Collins, never Ricky or Rick or Richard or Collins.

She sighed, looking back at the movie, which still didn't hold her interest. She actually found herself wishing she was watching Game of Gourds, which at least made her laugh. Charlotte had begun to feel a bit better, a little bit more charitable. There was, after all, a reason why she couldn't say no to him. She said nothing for a long moment and then closed her eyes, giving in. "What do you want? What do you need me to do?" she asked wearily. If she wasn't going to enjoy herself, she might as well at least be productive. She needed a distraction, and Lizzie rather understandably hadn't sent her the footage yet.

He hadn't needed her much recently. She hadn't seen Collins in person in a few weeks, not since a big meeting with investors. They'd communicated mostly via phone calls and emails. Recent developments had meant they'd both had more free time than usual, and they didn't spend it together because that wasn't what they did. For her, that meant coming back home, and for him that meant... going to Winnipeg to see his fiancée.

Mr. Collins was silent for a long moment. When he did speak again, his voice was softer, quieter. "I don't just call you for work, do I?" he asked in a strange tone of voice, as if he didn't even believe it. Charlotte opened her mouth to say something and promptly shut it. It wasn't really like he was asking her or expecting an answer. "I thought... I mean, we're colleagues, right?" He sounded almost disappointed. She could almost picture him tilting his head to the side, looking adorably confused. She smiled faintly at the mental picture, picking up a strand of hair and examining the ends for split-ends.

Ricky continued babbling, getting more and more animated. It was an acquired taste, just like Ricky himself, but you could get used to it. "What kind of partner would I be, Miss Lu, if I didn't call to wish you a happy birthday? I would be remiss if I let this special day go by without paying you the courtesy of a mere phone call. I wouldn't want you to think that I've... forgotten you... or that I don't thi-_appreciate_ you at all," he continued. She heard something like concern in his voice, thickening and choking him up a bit. To her own embarrassment, she felt the corners of her eyes prickling.

She could say one thing about Mr. Collins; he was effusive and enthusiastic about anything he felt strongly about. It was his best quality.

"You do _so_ much for the company, our employees, and our investors..." His voice got a little lower. It was different than when he got excited, and his voice went up half an octave and cracked. Then he was silent for a moment, probably catching his breath, before adding, "And me." Charlotte gasped a little, hoping he didn't hear it, but it was certainly true. She and Ricky hadn't... exactly gotten close, that wasn't the way she would put it, but they worked very well together, and they trusted each other, and sometimes she thought they were really friends. Mr. Collins cleared his throat, sounding a little uncomfortable, like he was too caught up in it. "How could I not want to celebrate your existence?"

He said it a little incredulously, like he couldn't see it any other way, and she regretted the stray, mean things she often thought about him. Lizzie didn't get it at all, not really, because Collins' attentions to her were different, but Mr. Collins was a good man, and he meant well. Charlotte knew how to see through the act he put on better than most, but it wasn't that hard to see that his persona was overcompensating. Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, but she didn't know how to say what that had meant to her, hearing that from him.

Her parents had called, as had her sister, and her friends had written on her Facebook wall, but none of that had happened in the rare moment she had needed that reassurance, to know she wasn't forgotten. And it meant more that Mr. Collins, who was on vacation and undoubtedly with his fiancée now, had taken time out of his evening to call her. "That's, um..." She was getting humiliatingly choked up, and it was so very unlike her. She struggled to swallow over the lump in her throat. "Very sweet of you, R-Mr. Collins." She forced herself to use the proper name, to try and draw the peculiar distance between them that Mr. Collins insisted upon, but it didn't quite work. "It's..." She moved the phone away from her mouth, forcing herself to exhale calmly. "Very good to hear from you," she said a bit breathlessly.

Strangely, she found sometimes that she missed the sound of his endless chattering and the four-syllable words. She missed his strange insistence upon calling her Miss Lu and the little courtesies he paid her, like how he never failed to open a door for her, or how he made her (awful) tea every afternoon when she started to get sleepy. She missed the intensity of focus and that vaguely crazy look he got sometimes when he was caught up in talking about something he was passionate about. She missed the way he burst into a room or peppered a door with knocks to signal he was about to come in.

And all this missing Mr. Collins was clearly the wine going to her head. Or maybe she missed her office and the employees and didn't really know what to do with herself in all of this new downtime she had on her hands. Yes, that had to be it. That made sense.

"Well, Miss Lu, it hasn't escaped my notice that we haven't chatted in quite some time," he replied in that self-assured voice she was accustomed to. She closed her eyes briefly, thinking a little too long about the way he said the letter s in Miss like a z. He was right; they hadn't had a non-work-related conversation since they'd both been back at the offices, probably not since the internet-free retreat. He paused just a moment before continuing on, perhaps a bit too breezily, "We should catch up on the goings-on in each other's lives over lunch sometime. I understand quite a lot has been happening with some of our mutual acquaintances." Charlotte pursed her lips, wondering, not for the first time, just how often (and closely) Mr. Collins watched Lizzie's videos.

"That sounds nice," Charlotte agreed softly, trying not to overthink it. She realized a moment later that she was absently gnawing at her bottom lip and shook her head, as if to shake free her distraction. As if it were really that easy. An awkward silence fell over them both then, which was unusual as Mr. Collins rarely stopped speaking, and more often than not, she found herself finishing his sentences. Sometimes she found it disturbing that she understood so well how his mind worked, truly. She cleared her throat, hoping to God she didn't sound drunk and pathetic when she was talking to her boss on the phone. "Um, I should let you get going. I'm sure you probably have better things to do than talk to your business partner on St. Patrick's Day."

She gave him the out wishing he wouldn't agree with her, but she never expected that to actually happen. He went off on some tangent about how busy he was that she only half paid attention to, as she was busy awaiting his adieus at any moment. He did not, however, say goodbye, as she'd anticipated. "What else would I possibly be doing on my business partner's birthday?" he asked disbelievingly, like even the thought of doing something else was insulting. Charlotte could personally think of a lot of other things he could be doing. She wondered briefly what his fiancée thought about that (admittedly sometimes even she was not sure the other woman actually existed). Charlotte was ready and willing to point out plenty of obvious answers, but, as usual, Collins did not let her get much of a word in edgewise.

"If you were here, why, I would-" he began insistently before trailing off abruptly, as if he'd realized he'd said too much. Charlotte blinked, trying to process and hopefully complete what he'd just attempted to say. It sounded like he'd been about to hint that he would be with her if they were both in Hunsford. Ricky coughed a bit too loudly; it almost sounded put-on. "I would... give you your present, of course," he said just a bit too late for Charlotte not to wonder. She couldn't say that she wasn't a bit disappointed that he hadn't said something else. She hadn't much expected a present either, but Mr. Collins could be very generous when he wanted to be.

"Of course," Charlotte remarked dimly, wondering what he'd gotten her. She was staring unseeingly at her television screen, unmoved by all the bright, complex costumes. She tore her gaze away from the television to glance around the room before her eyes landed on the probably-lukewarm honey walnut shrimp. It no longer seemed quite so appetizing.

"I..." His voice softened again, so like the little boy she remembered, the one who'd played kickball with her to their hearts' content. "No one deserves to spend their birthday alone," he said in a tone that was almost hushed, imbued with more meaning than intended. It hit her then why he was calling, or, why he was really calling at any rate. He felt like he owed it to her. She'd taken him out for his birthday, back in the late summer or early fall when she and Lizzie still weren't speaking. He was the only friend she'd had then aside from her sister.

To this very moment, she didn't know why she'd asked him, why she'd taken him out to dinner in Palo Alto and then drinks. She'd just meant to buy him a drink or two, to bond with her boss or partner or whatever he was to her. She knew how to make the best of a... less-than-desirable situation, after all. Ricky got a bit less voluble with alcohol, easier to put up with as he finally relaxed. But that wasn't it because she hadn't known that then. Maybe it had been because she had nothing better to do or wanted a distraction.

More likely it had been because, even after all these years, she still remembered his birthday. She remembered a lot about Ricky Collins.

He'd been different that day, quiet and more than a little disappointed, in his own Ricky way, and it occurred to her that he probably didn't have anyone here to celebrate with him. She'd asked him if it was his birthday when she popped into his office at lunch, pretending like she didn't already know, and his astonishment and the way the joy had bubbled up in him, had made the question more than worth it. And then, next thing she knew, she was inviting him to come out with her later on, insisting that he should celebrate properly.

That was why he was calling, of course; he was just repaying the favor. Her eyes felt heavy and wet, and she blinked rapidly. The thought and consideration was nice, but the fact remained that she was still alone, sitting on her parents' couch, watching a movie she didn't even like and talking to her business partner on the phone. Everyone she knew had someone, and she didn't. "Thanks for thinking of me, I guess," Charlotte mumbled, tilting her head back lest some of the moisture leak out of her eyes. She sniffed a bit more loudly than she intended and tried not to sigh.

Collins suddenly had a loud and prolonged coughing fit, the kind he had when he was profoundly uncomfortable. At one point she had thought they were contrived to get him out of unpleasant situations, but she now understood it was a nervous habit. She probably knew too much about Collins for her own good. She went back over what she'd said and realized why. Charlotte was about to apologize, but she thought of a better tactic. "I'll let you get back to your fiancée," she said in a voice as breezy as she could manage. She attempted a laugh, pressing at the damp spots underneath her eyes almost violently. "I'm sure Jamie wonders what you're doing talking to _me_ on a Sunday night."

Mr. Collins cleared his throat almost violently. He was quick to contradict her. "While your concern for my domestic felicity is truly touching, Miss Lu, I'm afraid I cannot agree with your suggestion," he said with all of his typical pomposity. He also said it in that voice that made him impossible to argue with. Charlotte mused that him taking this position was actually a bit strange for two reasons.

The first was that, when Ricky introduced her as his business partner or his right hand or his closest colleague or his second-in-command or his indispensable collaborator in their enterprise, whichever poetic turn of phrase he was inspired to use this time, well... it tended to confuse a lot of their business associates. As in it had made more than one potential investor, client, and peer assume that their partnership was that of a closer kind... i.e. that _she_ was the other Collins, rather than Ricky's father and first investor.

Even Ricky's father, when he'd met her, had made a similar mistake. To be fair, his son had introduced Charlotte as "the woman who is to be sharing the most important part of my life," and he had said that he "couldn't be happier about it," so such a conclusion was rather natural. Ricky's father had smiled, said how happy he was to meet her, assumed she was his son's fiancée, and then attempted to welcome her to the family. Ricky had blushed almost as profusely as he had when his mother had made a similar mistake (albeit with a much more effusive and enthusiastic welcoming that made it clear where Ricky got that particular trait from).

It wasn't a wholly irrational assumption, given Collins' tendency to go on about how she was the "perfect partner" and so on, the amount of time they spent together, and her own tendency to finish his sentences and "manage him." It also seemed weird for a partner to not be named in the company title, she supposed. It seemed strange to Charlotte and Lizzie, at the very least. So for all these reasons and mistakes, Mr. Collins now attempted to be distant to her in public.

The second reason was, of course, Catherine de Bourgh and one of her numerous opinions. She had a lot of ideas about how business partners and women ought to comport themselves both in and out of the workplace. She never liked Charlotte and her ideas, and, more importantly, the fact that she now had a much greater sway over Mr. Collins than Catherine herself. Catherine de Bourgh particularly liked to urge him to spend as much time with his fiancée as possible or, more specifically, to _not_ spend a lot of time with Charlotte outside of the office or even in it. The awful woman generally attempted to undermine Charlotte whenever possible; she liked to encourage Mr. Collins to delegate more work to Charlotte than was her fair share, to not listen to her counsel or suggestions, and to never let her have free time or meaningful authority.

Her exact words went along the lines of, "Richard, it won't do to be seen as being "chummy" with junior management. One wouldn't want there to be even the appearance of impropriety or favoritism in the workplace." She bristled at the designation; _junior_ _management_, really, when she was his business **partner**? Since Catherine enjoyed pontificating on all aspects of business maintenance and employee relations, Charlotte had heard varying strains of this same point; "Richard, you really should work to maintain a proper distance between you and your subordinates. The distinction of rank must be preserved in the workplace! Learn to delegate, man! After all, you wouldn't want your underlings to forget their place and overstep their bounds." On occasions such as these, Charlotte looked away and discreetly rolled her eyes.

Mr. Collins seemed to ascribe to this advice, but it had surprised Charlotte when he'd insisted quite firmly that Charlotte was his _partner_ in this, regardless of whether or not her name was on the company. He'd said that she was "indispensable to his enterprise." When Charlotte had asked him about it later, he'd somewhat sheepishly explained that he tended to go on about her virtues (perhaps because he could sense, as Charlotte herself did, that Catherine de Bourgh didn't exactly _like_ her) and skills rather a lot, so it was probably in response to that. Something about this explanation didn't sit quite right with her since Mr. Collins went on and on about everything.

Strangely enough, he'd been blushing when he said it, and after a few more moments of intense scrutiny, he looked away and explained Catherine's rather pointed looks and reminders. Apparently one of her countless husbands had cheated on her with his secretary, work colleague, or business partner.

It also explained some of the more insulting things Catherine had said to her face. Things like, "You should dress better, Miss Lu. I realize that you're not trying to attract any of the men at your work's attention, as is proper, of course, but, well... it's rather _sad_ that you care so little about professional dress. Dress for success, that's what I always say! It's almost like you're so sure of your position that you're, well... phoning it in." Charlotte had gritted her teeth but had avoided going on the familiar tangent she recited in her head at least twice a week about how people at tech start-ups tended to dress more casually in the workplace environment, and that Catherine of course insulted all of her professional clothes either in style or in (correctly) being "cheap-looking." Holding her tongue was key to her employment at Collins and Collins, so it was probably a good thing Lizzie had refused, as there was no way she would've put up with any of this.

There had also been the additional, even more offensive gem of: "Well, you know what they'll say, don't you, Miss Lu? You're so young, uneducated, and unqualified... and, yet, in such a high position." Charlotte had stared at the woman expectantly, who had rolled her eyes as if she expected Charlotte to guess the way in which she was insulting her before adding, "Why, Charlotte, they'll say you slept your way to the top!" She'd let out an airy laugh, and Charlotte had laughed hysterically like it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard to prove a point. Catherine also intimated various shades of this comment by occasionally insinuating things like "there's nothing you wouldn't do for this job" or "you know what you want and go after it" or "you're a very calculating woman" or even "Richard finds you quite useful, doesn't he?"

Anyway, Charlotte had stared at him incredulously but done her best to hold in her laughter. She didn't know if she should be flattered or insulted that Catherine thought she was pretty or tempting enough (but not serious about her job, apparently) for that sort of thing. The thought of Ricky doing anything untoward, much less coming onto her or something of that sort, when he had a fiancée and still called Charlotte "Miss Lu" after knowing her for the better part of seventeen years... was unfathomable, ridiculous, impossible. Laughing about it was really all she could do.

"I'm speaking with _you_, Miss Lu, and there's no one I'd rather be talking to right now," he assured her forcefully. That was the thing about Ricky; he was always so earnest and sincere. She smiled a little. That was Ricky's gift: flattery, making you feel important, even if you weren't. But he had this way of getting you caught up in his momentum, of making you buy into all of his visions. "Since I can't be there to honor you in person, I must rectify the situation in what little ways I can by being there for you in spirit," he continued.

Her thoughts towards her business partner were trending a bit too admiring for her own good, so Charlotte took another swig of the wine, this time straight from the bottle. Her eyes were still a bit more teary than she would've liked. She drank a bit too much and some of the wine leaked out onto her chin, and she made a disgruntled noise before wiping the wine away with the back of her hand. "Miss Lu?" Mr. Collins asked almost tremulously, "Are you still there?" Charlotte nodded, feeling her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her face was hot, and if she looked in a mirror, her cheeks and entire face would probably be equally flushed. She realized a bit too late that he couldn't see her.

"I'm here, Mr. Collins," she said dryly, hoping she wasn't slurring any of her words. She was starting to feel the alcohol, and the warm, sleepy feeling was starting to stretch under her skin. Aren't I always here, she thought. Charlotte let out a little sigh, curling back into the couch, stretching out along the length of it. Her parents' couch was longer and more comfortable than her own. She could hear the sound of his breathing over the line, a bit heavier than usual. As her fingers circled the stem of the wine bottle, she idly reflected on how unusual it was that he wasn't saying anything for once.

It was unlike her, but she found herself daydreaming. She was often distracted at work, not paying full attention when he was speaking, but she never indulged herself there. There she was all business, thinking of their company and what had to be done, trying to translate Ricky's thoughts into a concrete, executable policy.

For the first time nearly since it happened, she thought about kissing Collins under the mistletoe just before coming back home for Christmas. It had been at the ridiculous company Christmas party he'd insisted on, a very festive affair with holly, poinsettias, and mistletoe everywhere, and everyone had been feeling a bit too jolly. There had been a bit too much holiday spirit going around, in her opinion. It had been predictably awkward, very awkward, and she literally hadn't seen him for three weeks afterwards, even though she'd gone back to work early. Charlotte knew Ricky was avoiding her, and she let him for a while, enjoying the break, before it became annoying.

She never told Lizzie about it, though she had plenty of time to. She knew how Lizzie would react, that she would be full of questions—questions Charlotte didn't exactly want to answer. She didn't want Lizzie or anybody else to make it into something more than it was. It was easy to just write it off as one of those things.

Collins certainly never brought it up, nor did any of the other employees. Most of them had been smashed, even drunker than she'd been, and they were too scared of her or Mr. Collins to dare mention it. Or perhaps they refrained out of respect. They'd somehow wound up in a relatively isolated little corner, talking about work or Catherine or Christmas plans. They'd taken their breathers, enjoying each others' company and their drunken good humor (she was enjoying the silence as the party raged around them), and then one of them had looked up and frozen at the sight. Then the other one looked up at it, and they both went quiet and still.

The panic set in on Ricky's face first. His eyes had gone wide, his jaw dropped, and his face contorted like he was quite horrified with the idea. She really couldn't _stand_ to see that look on his face. She'd thought putting her arms around his neck and dragging him down to her was a good idea at the time. Something in her had kind of snapped. She'd been the one to do it because doing what he wouldn't was practically in her job description. She'd pulled him down with such force that he almost fell into her, almost lost his balance. It made her blush to think of it now, to think of the want she felt then. But there is no other word for it.

A small part of her, loosened up by the alcohol, admitted to herself that she hadn't just done it out of obligation or tradition or pressure. That same part of her whispered that she'd wondered what it would be like to kiss Ricky since the first night she'd stayed late at the office. She'd been down in the editing suite, working on something related to Game of Gourds, and he'd come in. He bent down, peering over her shoulder at the shots, murmuring things, and she'd made the mistake of looking at him. Something about the soft glow of the screen on his face, along his cheek, the way his eyes lit up, just... brought the whole moment into focus.

An even smaller, shyer part of her murmured that she'd wanted to kiss Ricky for a _long_ time, maybe since high school or maybe even before. But a stupid childhood crush was no reason to go around kissing your boss or, for that matter, to do anything.

The memory is fuzzy, but she remembers enough. It wasn't a great kiss by any means. Ricky had been stiff at first, his body mostly frozen in surprise. He'd been talking, and she'd interrupted him, shut him up, so his lips were pursed strangely. He hadn't thought she would dare, apparently; he wasn't the only one surprised she had. He'd tasted like fruit punch, a bit of alcohol, and cinnamon, because he loved pumpkin pie and apple cider and all kinds of autumn foods.

His beard was softer than it looked but still scraped against her face and mouth. She remembered reading somewhere (or had it been in some sort of sociological documentary?) that beards were a sign of virility. Ricky was the only man she knew who had one, but she and everyone else knew that the only reason he grew a beard was so that he would seem his age, as opposed to looking like a high schooler in a fancy suit.

Charlotte was out of practice with this, so she didn't really know what to do but keep her lips on his. His lips were a little chapped. Ricky hadn't responded much, but she'd felt his lips press against hers, gently, the pressure so slight that she thought she'd imagined it at first. She'd considered it a victory. Aside from his mouth, Ricky wasn't touching her at all, though she wished he would at the time. She'd wanted to slide her fingers into his hair, curling the ends around her fingers, and she'd wanted to shift into him and bring him closer so that their bodies were in closer contact, the professional distance between them finally evaporating. She wanted a lot of things, but that didn't mean she did them.

It had felt like a long time, but in reality it was only about thirty seconds, no tongue, and not really a big deal. Or so she told herself at the time. He hadn't looked at her for the rest of the evening, practically jumped away afterwards if it was ever just the two of them, and he left early, practically tripping over his feet to get away from her.

His voice, however, snapped her back to the moment. Apparently he'd been saying her name a lot, but the litany had sounded like buzzing to her ears. "Miss Lu? Are you all right?" he asked insistently. She felt a pang of guilt; she could hear the worry in his voice. She shook her head as if to free it from the cobwebs of the memory she liked to pretend she'd half-forgotten. She was not quite all right, but she didn't know how to put the strangeness she was feeling into words.

Instead of saying this, however, she cleared her throat. "Sorry, Mr. Collins. I was in another world," she replied apologetically. It wasn't like her to daydream or look back with sentimentality, so she supposed she had been in another world. Another world or universe, perhaps, where she wasn't just Miss Lu, erstwhile childhood friend and dependable business partner, to him. His Girl Friday, and just that. Hm, maybe she should lay off the wine, she thought, glancing over at the less-than-half-empty bottle at her side. "What is it you were saying?" Each of her words feels precise, and that's a good feeling.

She needs the clarity of thought, lest she let her guard down and risk saying too much. Collins cleared his throat, and she could practically feel the pomposity bleeding back into his tone. He could even be serious about perfectly ridiculous things, which was a relief, really, to know that something hadn't changed. "I know I may be a bit... verbose... but is talking to me really so bad that you want to avoid it at all costs?" he asked a bit hesitantly, his voice a little softer and less buoyant than usual. She heard the strain of rejection in his voice. It reminded her of when he'd been bullied on the playground, how sad and pathetic he looked, how bad she felt for him.

Charlotte let out a deep sigh; it felt like it came from deep down inside of her. She ran a hand over her face, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. "No, Ricky, it's not you. It's me," she said, wincing as she said it. She reached behind her and tugged the ponytail holder out of her hair with more force than necessarily. She could hear Ricky's breathing over the line and sensed he was about to ask a question. Charlotte shook her hair out, leaning against the couch. Continuing to talk to him would be a bad idea. "I can't... do this tonight. I've been drinking, and I'm going to say something I'll regret if we keep going on like this." She shut her eyes; had she really said that out loud? She hadn't exactly meant to.

"Not that it isn't nice to talk with you, obviously," she amended, wondering when she'd found it _nice_ to talk with Mr. Collins, "but I'm... tired." God, the alcohol was making her go all soft. This was why she didn't drink often. She reached out for the bottle and set it on the table somewhat clumsily before easing onto her back. The couch was softer than she remembered. She let out a large yawn partly for dramatics and partly because she was exhausted.

She should've known, of course, that Mr. Collins wouldn't let her get away with that excuse. Had there ever been a conversation he hadn't attempted to prolong? "You are an eminently sensible and calculating woman, Miss Lu," he assured her. She closed her eyes; "calculating" would never be a compliment. She _was_ calculating; she knew that, but hearing anyone say that made her feel a bit like a smarter Catherine de Bourgh or a kinder Caroline Lee. "What could you possibly say that you would regret?" He said it with such an adorable mixture of confidence and confusion and trust, as if he couldn't believe her making a misstep.

Charlotte rubbed one of her temples. There was a lot she could say that she would regret, like all of those things she only half-allowed herself to think sometimes. It was really best that she stop talking to him as soon as possible. "You don't want to know," she said a bit shortly. Truthfully, Charlotte didn't even want to know. Anything could come out of her mouth now.

Mr. Collins cleared his throat loudly and dramatically. "Well, actually, Miss Lu, now that you've piqued my curiosity, I would like to know very much," he insisted eagerly. He was a curious man, rather like herself and Lizzie, but she could count the number of true personal questions he'd asked her in the seven months of their partnership on one hand. Charlotte squeezed her eyes closed, distractedly running a hand through her hair. A loud sound echoed in the background, nearly making her jump a little.

It was the movie she'd long ago lost interest in and forgotten she was watching. Charlotte grunted, reaching up and pulling down the throw from the back of the couch. She draped the blanket over herself, blinking sleepily. "And I said I'm not doing this tonight, _Mister_ Collins." She said it with a bit more bite than usual, but it came out sounding a bit strange and slow. Really, she just wanted to sleep and shut her mouth before something stupid leaked out and made things awkward, even though she was unlikely to see Ricky any time in the near future.

She could practically hear Ricky frowning in confusion, and he was quiet over the line for so long that she almost thought he'd hung up. The sound of his breathing, not quite slow and not relaxed, over the line convinced her otherwise. "Have I done something to anger you, Miss Lu?" he asked after some time, his voice quiet and bewildered. She heard him swallow hard and continue effusively, thickly, "If I have, you have my most hearty apologies. I certainly never meant to offend or upset you, and I regret anything I have said or done to cause you injury. It was not at all my intent."

His completely unnecessary and far too kind apology just made the constricting feeling in her chest get tighter. It was a little hard to breathe. She wanted to tell him not to apologize, that he hadn't done anything wrong at all, that she was just in a bad or weird mood, that she was being stupid, but the words got kind of stuck in her throat. "I didn't mean to get so personal with my questions, Miss Lu. I respect your boundaries, and I don't know what came over me. I'm sure you must find me very nosy indeed," he continued obliviously, sounding a bit sorrowful, withdrawing.

She blinked. Ricky actually realizing that she was upset, much less pinpointing what he thought was the source of her irritation; she didn't know whether or not to believe it. Him apologizing for not noticing social cues was, in and of itself, rather strange. She supposed he'd learned after that time he'd walked in on her changing in her office. He hadn't knocked, as per usual, and had just barged in, already chattering a mile a minute. She'd been changing into nicer clothes for one of their business dinners with Catherine, reaching around her back to frantically zip up the dress.

He'd frozen when he'd seen her and stared at her back for a few too many moments before she'd turned, smoothly flipping her hair over to the side of her neck. Then, glancing at him over her shoulder, she asked him to zip her up in a voice an octave or two lower than usual. She was rewarded for her trouble by his reluctance to approach her and the way he averted his gaze, and then his fingers fluttering against her spine, fingertips occasionally brushing against her bare skin as he struggled with the zipper. After he'd zipped her up, his fingers following the zipper upward, he straightened and smoothed the dress more than perhaps necessary. He'd complimented her appearance when she turned around, a singular experience, and she'd been reminded of when he'd said something similar at Prom. It had made her feel the same way then too.

That, of course, was neither the first nor the last time he'd walked in on her. If he were another man, perhaps, she might think it intentional, but she knew it was just carelessness. That and Mr. Collins wasn't exactly a sexual being. Or, at least, she couldn't afford to think of him as one.

The first time was when Maria had been interning, back in the late summer. Maria had been talking her ear off about Doctor Who all morning and all lunch, and she'd been so absentminded that she'd whirled around and spilled her bubble tea all over her big sister's blouse. Maria had apologized frantically, of course, but Charlotte had a lifetime of experience preparing for every eventuality, so she reassured her sister by telling her she had a change in her office. She'd gone to the bathroom and taken off her shirt, rinsing it as best as she could under the water. She should've put the new shirt on, but she didn't want to risk getting it wet as well.

And, then, of course, while she was in the middle of doing this, in just her bra, Ricky knocked and walked in. She turned and saw him and froze immediately in mortification, but she didn't turn away. When he saw her standing there at the sink in her bra and shirt, his jaw dropped a little, and he swallowed hard. He attempted to say something but soon found he couldn't, and he then immediately turned back around and left the room. Charlotte had put her shirt on, rung the old blouse out, and tried to forget it happened. Neither of them could look at each other without blushing for like, two weeks.

The most recent time had happened during the company retreat and had been more or less inevitable. They were camped out at their company for a week and a half with no internet access, in tents, like some sort of extended slumber party with a constant barrage of company events planned to eat up most of their free moments. She'd been changing into pajamas in her office right before their big campfire, which was, of course, fake (as if she trusted Mr. Collins not to have some sort of accident around the fire? Maybe if they all had asbestos-lined pajamas, but she didn't want to chance it), though they were cooking marshmallows over the burners in the kitchen or cans of Sterno one of the interns had bought.

She'd been pulling up her pajama pants as he walked in, so he hadn't seen much, but she was wearing a relatively low-cut camisole, having yet to put on the matching pajama top. He'd stammered out an apology and that he hadn't thought she would be in there. He'd needed something from her office, and she'd handed it to him. He may also have been looking at her chest a little too long for her to be comfortable, but it was also kind of flattering. He too was wearing pajamas, though his were light-blue with a childish cartoon pattern. She'd put the overshirt on, buttoning it up most of the way, offering him a forgiving smile, and then they'd both made their way to the campfire, and the 'smores and company love put everyone in a rosy mood.

As she was remembering, Collins was talking, backpedaling, "Obviously your personal thoughts and private life are none of my business, and you don't want me poking around in your head. It's not my place, and I assure you it won't happen again." She opened her mouth to say something, to make him stop, because, well, truthfully she didn't mind him asking her a personal question every now and then. Him promising never to pry, to confine himself to just being a business associate, well, it left her feeling not-so-good. He paused then, in a heavy way that cut off her attempts at speech. "I... value you. As an employee... and as a friend."

The alcohol has apparently loosened her tongue a great deal more than she thought because she asked, without even a second thought, before she could stop herself, "_Are_ we friends?" Was Collins really her friend? They talked several times a day, even when they didn't see each other, more often than her and Lizzie. But they rarely talked about anything that wasn't in some way work-related. He asked questions about her family, her sister, Lizzie and her family, of course, Lizzie's videos. She asked about his mom and dad, sometimes about the company before she arrived. She never really asked about his fiancée beyond a few shallow inquiries; he didn't seem to like to talk about her. Mr. Collins said something about it like, "I like to keep my personal life out of the office."

They ate meals together occasionally, fairly often, but usually they were meetings over brunch or business lunches or company get-togethers. And, yes, they had previously spent quite a lot of time together at the office, but that was because they both seemed to live there and apparently have no lives outside of the office. When they hung out outside of the office, they were rarely, if ever, alone, and always surrounded by people they worked with or were networking with or Catherine. Did all of that make them real friends or were they just coworkers who spent a lot of time together?

Maybe she was thinking of Lizzie and Darcy. How they hadn't even been friends, but now they're (presumably) together. Lizzie, troll that she was, had sent Charlotte footage up until Darcy's arrival some time ago. As ugly as it made Charlotte feel to think of it, she couldn't deny that she was a little bit envious. Lizzie finally had someone in her life now, so did Jane, and all of them were off starting new traditions. Even Mr. Collins supposedly had someone. And Charlotte, well, she was just alone. She stifled a sigh.

He was silent a bit too long, and she deflated a little, taking that for an answer. But she wasn't even really surprised, just disappointed, because she has always thought this was just business to him. She told herself she was okay with that. She tricked herself into believing sometimes that it was just business and nothing more for her too but, well... she's been part of something, and she's built something at Collins and Collins. Suddenly she was nothing but grateful for the opportunity to be such an important part of something, even if that something is the mediocre web video start-up of a childhood friend.

She wasn't like Lizzie. She wasn't a princess or a heroine or anything special, and she wasn't ever going to get a kind of chick-flick big romantic gesture happy ending. That was her lot in life, and she knew that. She didn't have big dreams or big expectations, none of that, and she'd been lucky to have an opportunity like this fall into her lap. Sure, it's not rocket science or anything world-changing, nothing big, but it's, well, it's as much _hers_ as Ricky's (and he knows that too). That was really all that mattered. Charlotte feels like crying all over again because it occurs to her all at once that she really should be thanking _him_. And instead she's been awful, and he probably still thinks she's mad at him even though she's not.

Ordinarily this range of intense emotions would terrify her and make her realize that she wasn't quite herself, but the alcohol had put her out of it and... maybe she shouldn't use the alcohol as an excuse. Maybe this was all just her giving herself a chance to feel the things she usually didn't let herself feel, to get caught up in those tangled emotions she didn't usually bother to sort out. Maybe she was just being a little self-indulgent on her birthday because she was alone, and it had been a long, long, life-changing year.

He exhaled heavily, his breath rattling a little. When he did speak, it was quiet, almost shy, really, and without any of his extra flourishes. "I think... you're my only friend, Miss Lu." She drew in a sharp breath. He sounded so small when he said it, like he was just as alone as she was right now. She could feel the raw honesty of his words hit her right square in the chest. Maybe he really was. Maybe there was a reason he was talking to her rather than the fiancée who took him away from his work, who wasn't the most important part of his life or even someone he wanted to share that with. Maybe that woman didn't even exist. Or maybe not.

Her immediate instinct was to comfort him, to dispute his uncharacteristically pessimistic words, regardless of their truth. Truthfully, she doesn't know him well enough to fully contradict him. She didn't know him in college, barely knew him in middle and high school, though they occasionally ran in the same circles. All she had to evaluate was the past seven months and some old, half-forgotten childhood memories. She didn't dwell on the touched feeling in her chest, on how she was breathing considerably shallower now. "Oh, Mister Collins, that's not true. You've got Jamie and your father and Catherine and Maria and Liz-" He interrupted her litany of names abruptly, which was unlike him. His manners were usually so deferential.

His voice was low and throaty and raw when he finally spoke. It's unlike him, but everything about this is unlike him, unlike either of them. As she was staring up at her parent's ceiling, with its puckered, popcorn-like texture, watching light flicker across it, it felt like she was in some dream state, floating. "_Please_," he said, dragging out the word with an almost plaintive tremor, "Don't call me that."

There's an urgency to the request, an urgency that made her sit up with an abruptness that made her head spin. She frowned, holding her head, opening her mouth to argue with him already. He had always been so insistent that he preferred to be addressed as Mister Collins and nothing else, annoyed when anyone called him by his childhood nickname. It had already slipped out a few times this evening, and he hadn't even corrected her, much less said anything about it. But Collins' voice cut in once more before she could articulate any of this familiar refrain. "Say my name."

She blinked, not knowing why he wanted this. It throws her, all the comforting familiarity and old routines being sapped from their interactions. But she was not one to question Ricky out loud and not one to not do what he said in any case, so she obliged him. "Ricky." It sounded strange coming from her lips, even though it was hardly the first time she'd said his name tonight. It came out almost as a question; she still doesn't know what he wants from her, just that she can't say no to him. The call had been curiously low on business content.

It struck her just then that maybe he wants her to call him by his first name because that's what friends do.

The name has never really suited him, at least, not in Charlotte's opinion. It is too casual, too childish, too wholly ridiculous. One cannot take a Ricky seriously. Lizzie would say that's precisely why it suits him, and she would rightly point out that it was difficult for either of them to think of him as anything but Ricky. Rick is too hard, too slick. Dick is... harsh, poetically ironic if you asked Lizzie. Rich is too posh. Richie is worse than Ricky, for the same reason. Richard, maybe, but it seems formal and wrong somehow, ill-fitting. She tried _so_ _hard_ to think of him as Mr. Collins, the remote, distant, unmovable object, her boss, an entirely nonsexual, nonhuman being, because that was easier. But, at the end of the day, it's a lie because Ricky is flesh-and-bone and old memories and the boy-next-door, eager and enthusiastic and energetic.

He exhaled, almost sighed, like that was somehow better, like he was relieved. She didn't really get it, but she half-shrugged and leaned back on her hands and then elbows before easing back down into her former position. Charlotte adjusted the blanket over her lap, shifting the phone at her ear. "Thank you," he said. If she strained her ears just enough, she could imagine that she'd heard the wet sound of him licking parched lips. Her own lips are probably stained merlot and taste like wine. "Do _you_ think we're friends?" a clearly nervous Ricky asked a moment later.

She has no words for the first moment she spends thinking on it. Charlotte shrugged again, trying to play it off as no big deal. Damn, she does that a lot with him, doesn't she? Admitting he was her friend, though, more than just her colleague and boss, that was hardly a big deal, right? "If you think we are..." she began diplomatically, trailing off short of finishing when she realized how badly it sounded. He made a sound on the other end, something soft like a sigh but more than that, like he was disappointed... and something inside of her just broke. "Yes," she said unhesitatingly, "Yes, I would say we're friends, Ricky."

She knows almost immediately it was the right thing to say. Ricky let out a little chuckle over the line, a kind of nervous but flattered sound, and she found herself smiling like an idiot. As usual with Collins, there were so many things she wanted to say to him... things she couldn't, for various reasons, things she shouldn't for myriad reasons, and things she wouldn't, just because. "Good, that's, um... good," Collins managed after a spell. Charlotte marveled at how brief and inarticulate it was. Ricky must've noticed too because he cleared his throat hard and continued, in his business pitchman voice, "To know that we're in agreement, of course, about the nature of our working relationship. I know we both like to cultivate close bonds with those we work and consult with on a regular basis."

Charlotte frowned faintly, going over his words in her head. Was he implying they had a bond, and, if so, what did that mean? They were friends, apparently, which was good but didn't fully satisfy her, not that Ricky existed to satisfy her in any way, of course. She grimaced, covering her face with her hand (okay, facepalming), never more glad that he couldn't actually see her at this very moment, reclined on her couch, hand over her face, hair flung out behind her messily, her mouth red-purple, everything about her undignified. She muttered some noise of assent before screwing up her courage enough to say, "I'm glad to hear that." She dropped the sir she would've added at the end, not sure whether or not he wanted her to keep calling him by his first name.

He was silent, strangely so, and she realized that she now had the opportunity she wanted to say some of the things she'd bottled up. And there were some things she really actually did need to say to him. She sat up a little bit, propping her head and neck up against one of the arms of the sofas. "I'm sorry about earlier. I... I was never mad at you, Ricky. I just... I'm in a strange mood tonight, and you caught me at kind of a weird time-" she attempted to explain, rubbing first her forehead and then the back of her neck. None of the words feel right or adequate; she owes him so much more than this.

He scrambled to apologize yet again, and she wished he would stop. This was going to be hard enough to get out as it was without him interrupting her all the time. "Oh, I did? I'm so sorry, I can han-" Or, worse, him on the verge of hanging up on her, leaving all the important things unsaid. The fact that he bought her pathetic excuses so easily (though they were mostly true) made her even a little sadder.

She cut him off with more impatience than usual, raising her voice. She needed to say this, needed to finish it, needed to finally get _all_ the words out. "No, let me finish," she insisted. He fell silent, and she resisted the urge to exhale heavily. "I'm glad you called, really." She only admits to herself that her night probably would've been even worse if he hadn't called, but it's no less true even though she doesn't say it out loud. "I'm... grateful for you, Ricky," she said slowly, licking her lips, feeling that lump form back up in her throat. Propping her head up against the arm of the sofa seems like a great idea now.

Charlotte was blinking furiously as she said it, caught up in the whirlwind of emotions from earlier. All of them are some shade of gratitude. "Thank you for taking a chance on me and making me your partner..." She wiped at the leaky corners of her eyes, remembering how he'd really helped her settle in. He'd had the office all made up for her the way she liked it when she got here, and he'd been the one to tell her about local apartment buildings within her budget and then go look at them with her. He'd even organized a welcoming party for her first day on the job and taken her out to dinner afterwards to celebrate and inform her about company procedures that hadn't been covered earlier. "And really helping me feel welcome here and making me a part of something," she added after a moment, swallowing over the thickness in her throat. "It means a lot to me, really, more than I can say."

His response was immediate and assured, almost smooth, if Collins could be smooth. "Miss Lu, choosing you as my partner was, without a doubt, the best choice I've made in my career. I truly don't believe I could've found anyone better-suited to my company," he declared with the utmost certainty. The double meaning of that sentence hit her unexpectedly in the stomach, and a part of her wondered if (hoped) he meant the second, more personal meaning. Then again, this was Ricky she was talking to, so his company was as personal to him as anything else in his life, if not more so. It's probably one of the nicest things he's ever said to her, and certainly one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about her. "Indeed," he mused, "you fit in here even better than I could've foreseen."

There was something almost sad about the way he said it. She knows him well enough now to read between the lines, and what he's really saying is that she fits in better than he does... at his own company. She could almost picture him hanging his head a little. As if this admission alone was not enough, Collins elaborated further, his voice softening, "I wouldn't trust my company to anyone less exemplary." She could comfortably classify his tone as warm, but that wasn't what stuck with her about the comment. It's the first time he's explicitly referenced the power transfer they've got in the works outside of an office or a meeting with attorneys. The power transfer that was nearly a fait accompli, just weeks away from completion.

With how hard she'd worked and continued to work, she couldn't say she wasn't glad for the opportunity and the promotion... but, well, a part of her couldn't help but think, "But it's lonely at the top." A small part of her wasn't exactly thrilled about the transfer, about the most stable thing in her life (her entire life, really) changing so suddenly. Ricky no longer being a fixture in her life, well, the mere thought of it just seemed _wrong_... as much as she earlier would've welcomed the autonomy back when he was micromanaging her and breathing down her neck, taking over every inch of her life (whatever semblance of a life she had at that point). She'd finally gotten comfortable, used to something, and now he was going to move away, and she would be all alone again.

Maybe a tiny part of her was scared. Because when he left, she would be the one in charge. Every decision to make would be hers, and what if she made the wrong one? It didn't matter quite so much when she was his Number Two, even though she did the majority of the work and made the majority of the decisions. Ricky had a higher stake, of course, and he was there for advice and to monitor her (and she had actually learned things from him). She had a safety net, a smokescreen for in case she screwed up, and it wasn't all on her.

Of course Charlotte knew that he would be only an email or phone call away in the future, sure, but she would be the one responsible for his baby... and, as much as she didn't want to fail publicly or upset their investors, well... she was just as terrified of letting _Ricky_ down after he'd handed the reins of the company, "the most important part of my life", over to her. She wasn't entirely sure she deserved that amount of trust, no matter how much he insisted he trusted her judgment.

Her rather unprofessional attachment to Ricky was a big reason why she didn't exactly trust her own judgment.

She _meant_ to say "thank you;" she really did. What came out instead was something very different. "I've really missed you, Ricky," she murmured thickly. She realized as she said it, almost too late, that it was true. The offices were lonely without him and his chatter to fill the silence. And too much time left alone with her own thoughts led to dangerous places like this very moment. Where her feelings made her say far too much, and she'd probably said a mortifying amount already, and her thoughts were irrationally shame-spiraling the way Lizzie's did sometimes. She heard his sharp, sharp intake of breath, and suddenly everything went silent.

It didn't sound like either of them were breathing, but she hadn't stopped holding her breath. She waited anxiously for a response, already crafting an out or some other way of backpedaling out of this. But then, after what felt like a small eternity but was more probably only a minute or so, he spoke. "I've missed you as well, Charlotte. It really isn't the same without you by my side." She'd released the breath she'd been holding in a slow hiss, slowly sucking in a fresh breath though she wanted to gulp for air desperately. She still couldn't quite believe he'd really said that, let alone that he'd called her just Charlotte for what had to be, quite possibly, the first time since high school graduation. She liked the way he said her name almost as much as she liked the novelty of it.

She was so taken aback that she was bereft of all words. What was the appropriate response to that startlingly personal admission? She felt as if anything she said would risk making the situation even more awkward or uncomfortable for both of them. Or, at the very least, it would ruin the moment. If she and Ricky were having a moment, and it certainly seemed like it since they were, apparently, now on a first-name basis for the first time since their adolescence. So she merely thinks _I wish you were here_ instead of staying it out loud and reminding him of his fiancée.

They were both silent for a minute, absorbing what had been said, trying not to read too much into it. Then Ricky astounded her by more or less stealing the words from her head, as if he could suddenly read her mind. "I wish I were there." He sounded wistful, almost longing. The "with you" goes unspoken, unsaid, but she hears it almost as clearly as if he's actually said it. As much as Charlotte tried to tell herself he was just saying that because it was her birthday, she's inclined to think it was a bit more than that, and not merely because she wants it to be. She was breathless with shock, of course.

She opened her mouth to reply, realizing she'd left him hanging a bit there, but Ricky was already jumping like some sort of skittish horse to extricate himself from the awkwardness. It hit him fairly suddenly that he'd said too much, probably, that he'd crossed that invisible but all so tangible line between them. It was all a bit too much for one night. "I-I should go. It's getting late here, and I should be headed to bed..." Charlotte closed her eyes, suddenly reminded of the fact that, at least in theory, he would _not_ be in bed alone and that, no matter what she tried to tell herself, his place wasn't here with her on her couch.

Apparently Collins too realized the mistake of mentioning bed to her, a woman he'd just been conversing on the phone with on what even he must recognize are booty-call hours (though he regularly calls her quite late with some business detail he's just remembered), because he cleared his throat almost violently. "Happy birthday, Charlotte," he said quietly, his voice just as soft as it was before. She couldn't help but smile, though a part of her reminded her that it was pathetic that she was excited that her boss had called her by her first name and wished her a happy birthday, and it really wasn't worth getting all worked up over. Not that she was worked up, but, God, really, who was she kidding here but herself and possibly Ricky?

"Thanks for calling, really. I mean that," she said, though it felt like she stammered it. Her words didn't even remotely measure up to his, but it was the best she could do. She hoped anything she'd said, as paltry as it was, had made him feel even half as good as he had made her feel just now, right when she'd needed cheering up most. He'd done that too when she'd thrown herself into work, mourning Lizzie's absence from her life, and she hadn't appreciated it then as she ought to.

"It was my pleasure," he assured her quickly in a voice that was almost at his normal confidence level. He still didn't sound quite like himself, at least, not quite like the Mr. Collins she knew. Charlotte was strangely unable to stop herself from smiling. "I'll... see you later?" he said. His intonation was such that the words lilted up towards the end, like it was a question.

Either way, there was something hopeful in it, so she sank back into the soft cushions, feeling warm and fuzzy. "We've got a lot to talk about," she agreed, nodding. She bit her bottom lip, running a hand through her hair. She tried to remind herself that she was talking to _Ricky_ here, and that it was hardly worth getting excited over, especially since they were talking about him leaving Hunsford for good. Supposedly. So she really had no right at all to be hopeful about anything or to feel so close to giddy about it, except that she was taking over the company from him and would have the independence she'd wanted for months. "I'll, uh... I'll call you tomorrow," she added a bit shyly.

Ricky cleared his throat a little. "Er, actually, would it be possible to Skype instead?" he asked a bit hesitantly. He paused a moment uncomfortably before continuing, "I have some diagrams and charts I'd like to go over with you, you know, analytics and that sort of thing, and I figured it would be best to show them to you... face-to-face, as it were, or as close as we can get to it, thanks to videoconferencing software." Charlotte placed a hand on the flat of her stomach, smoothing over it distractedly and wondering what he meant by this request. It was, after all, hardly necessary when he could merely email her the diagrams and charts, if she wasn't already aware of them, along with any needed elaboration or instructions. Collins sent very thorough and verbose emails on such subjects.

As if he sensed the direction of her thoughts, he said, "At times, I find the personal touch far more suitable... and preferable, of course." Sometimes, Charlotte had found, Ricky anticipated her thoughts and needs almost as well as she did his. Occasionally, he could even finish her sentences. Apparently it worked both ways, and while much earlier in this partnership that would've alarmed her, it did not now. Still, what did this mean, any of it?

"As we are in the digital media business, I must admit I much favor dealing with people and seeing faces..." This time he sounded almost entirely like himself, which both relieved Charlotte and unsettled her some. It didn't dissipate the strange anticipation feeling coiled in her stomach. Apparently the feeling was somewhat mutual because Ricky felt the need to go on in one of his rambles, which he only did when he was particularly anxious about something or working his way up to something. "And sometimes the leaps and bounds we have made to use technology to communicate with one another just astound me. Why, when we were children, this would've been an impossibility! But now you and I can communicate via the video format from different countries thousands of miles apart!"

This was ordinarily where she would cut him off, if she hadn't done so earlier, and this was no exception. Charlotte rubbed her stomach, feeling the sleepiness return. "That sounds fine." She very pointedly avoided saying "sir" or calling him "Mr. Collins," as she would've usually. She somehow knew he was excited about it, perhaps because she heard him clap or something in the background, the way he would've usually. "I'll videoconference with you tomorrow then."

She found she was surprisingly reluctant to hang up, which was new, but all in all it was hardly the longest conversation she'd ever had with Ricky, not even by a long-shot. She rarely wished to lengthen their conversations. "Goodnight," she said, leaving off the name because she was certain she would've called him Ricky and didn't want to chance it again. She felt like she should've said something more but didn't know what. She was still half-smiling.

For his part, he all but whispered a formal goodnight, telling her to get her rest, that she deserved it. He seemed equally unwilling to hang up, but even Ricky eventually ran out of things to say, and they both hung up. For a minute or so afterwards, Charlotte merely stared at the phone. The whole conversation and her memory of it felt surreal, like something she'd dreamed up. He'd never even told her why he'd wanted to call her aside from wishing her a happy birthday, had he?

Reflecting on this strange warm feeling that was probably more a result of all the wine rolling around in her stomach than anything more... romantic, Charlotte shifted on the couch, pulling the blanket over her and setting her phone down. She groped for the remote to turn off the movie, which was still going, and turned it off with some satisfaction. She was still smiling to herself like a drunken idiot, still going over the phone call in her head and wondering what it had all meant. The unexpected (and initially unwanted) phone call had made her feel good... appreciated, and, of course, other, softer, kinder things she thought but was too sleepy and too wise to enumerate. Maybe her birthday hadn't been so bad or so disappointing after all, Charlotte thought as she snuggled into the couch, closing her eyes, and drifting off into a blissful slumber.

Either way, it felt like the beginning of something, something far more than merely her tenure at the helm of Collins and Collins, though she didn't exactly know what.

- Loren ;*


	2. The Epilogue

Okay, so I definitely started out this fic with the intention of just having it be a one-shot. Partly because I didn't think anyone would be interested because this is not Lizzie/Darcy, partly because I didn't want to commit, and partly because I like to leave things a bit ambiguous so you can imagine the ending you want to. And a lot of other excuses that ultimately didn't hold water because I discovered that I was not the only person who shipped CharCol and felt like they deserved a bit more of an ending. And then I wound up writing Maria, which was super fun, and giving the poor girl a little bit of fic love because girlfriend is in practically nothing, but I digress. Clearly this chapter proves it did not stay a one-shot (and Good God, this is like twice the length of its predecessor!), but this is the last part, I promise.

Anyway, this is set during the postscript of LBD, which is all on Lizzie's twitter. And apparently someone on Tumblr wanted a fic about that, but I don't think this is what that person wanted or expected (sorry that the awkwardness at first is like nonexistent, but it's not about the hilarious of a Darcy/Collins onesided conversation), but, whatever, CharCol needed to happen. To really happen.

If you don't know what happens in the postscript, basically Collins crashes the LBD wrap party/celebration of Lizzie and Charlotte's successes... ostensibly to congratulate Lizzie and Darcy on their relationship and more probably for networking purposes. But me being me, that just fit in entirely too well with the story I was going to tell. And I also noticed that before talking to Charlotte Ricky's jacket is buttoned, but it isn't after he talked to her. But I digress. Anyway, there is one factual error in this, as far as I can tell... in that Ricky's jacket does not have three buttons, but the internet says that just one button is kind of entertainment-y, so I prefer to imagine there are three. And yes, I did actually scrutinize all the photos that closely. I am ridiculous about details, particularly factual inaccuracies.

Also, the card you see later on is an actual Hallmark card, which you can see here: www. hallmark products /thank-you/greeting-cards/ what-a-difference-you ve-made- 1PGC5974_DK/ (remove all the spaces, you know the drill). Because I am too lazy to make it up and because sometimes Hallmark really does say things better than people do. And I love Hallmark.

I also own none of the things. Not LBD, not P&P (although, technically perhaps I do since it's public domain, so, like, everyone owns it), not the characters contained therein or their various incarnations. None of that good stuff. But I do own the plot, and that is something that I am proud of.

Anyway, I hope that you enjoy it or, more accurately, that it doesn't really disappoint you or make you want to throw things. Review if you like, review if you hate, review if you want. :)

* * *

Ricky appeared out of the blue and said hello in his typical pompous tone when everyone's backs were turned, startling the whole table. Lizzie shot Charlotte a look that was part questioning and partly accusing, but Charlotte was speechless with shock. "Ricky! I thought you were in Canada?" Charlotte was dimly aware that she was smiling indulgently, but Ricky hadn't even looked her way once. Nor, for that matter, had he said hello to her. She wasn't even sure he knew she was there.

Lydia was already making a face. Ricky was, as usual, blabbering on about why he was here and Winnipeg and the final episode of the Diaries, then congratulating Lizzie and Darcy, and on and on and on. "I know I may be a rather unusual sight here, but I heard about your celebration, Miss Bennet. I flew down so that I could congratulate you and Mr. Darcy in person, of course, on your new romantic entanglement." Darcy was giving his best impression of listening, and maybe he really was, but Charlotte doubted it. She wasn't even listening, and she was the one who had the most experience in it.

Charlotte would be ashamed to admit it, but the second thought she had after laying eyes on Ricky (after all the questions, of course) is that she wished she looked nicer. It was stupid, but she wished she was wearing a dress or had a little bit more make-up on, that she'd done her nails or something, anything. Wanting to look _cute_ for a guy, much less Ricky Collins, is so seventh grade, but Charlotte can't help herself. Really, she should just be happy to see him, because she hadn't expected that she would actually see him for at least a month. They'd agreed that he would take monthly trips to Hunsford to check in on things. But instead she was preoccupied with thoughts of how she looked and what was he thinking and being a total girl about his sudden appearance and having to conceal it from her friends.

She smoothed her hair distractedly, suddenly conscious of the fact that she was smiling too much. She was, perhaps, the only person truly happy to see Ricky. But, then again, Lizzie and Darcy were far too happy to realize that they'd been having a much better time than either Charlotte or Lydia. Then Ricky was holding his hand out to Darcy by the taller man's shoulder. Darcy shook his hand politely, still endeavoring to be nice, which was becoming increasingly difficult.

Then Ricky was going on about his business in Winnipeg and all of the new opportunities he'd found, the lucrative business opportunities in the Canadian digital media market. He was pimping Collins and Collins out as usual, which would've otherwise pleased Charlotte except for the fact that he'd chosen to do so now at a social situation. Perhaps he sensed the awkwardness better than she gave him credit for; the conversation had been limping along long before Ricky had arrived. Business, at least, was something most of them could talk about.

But then Ricky took it a step too far, pulling Lizzie and Darcy's seats apart and squeezing down between them. The effrontery! Though at least throwing himself between them would prevent her and Lydia from witnessing any unwanted public displays of affection. He went on and on, testing Darcy's already-limited patience. He even threw his arm over the back of Darcy's chair quite effortlessly, sitting a bit closer than Darcy would've preferred. She watched Darcy's expression turn more serious and increasingly peeved. His jaw was stiff, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

It would've been amusing if she wasn't so embarrassed. But what could she do, really? Mr. Collins was the man he was, and there was no changing that. One could attempt to guide him, but her powers there were limited. Especially since she wasn't sure he knew she was here. He'd at least acknowledged everyone else. But her... nothing! She'd spoken to him just last night, and he'd never mentioned that he was even considering a visit. She talked to him most days, and here he was acting as if she didn't exist! Her frustration grew with every moment.

Lizzie leaned across the table to shoot Charlotte a pleading look, glancing anxiously between Collins and Darcy. She was many things, but subtle had never been one of them. Lydia was wrinkling her nose and trying not to burst out into hysterical laughter. Charlotte sighed, rolling her eyes like the long-suffering woman she was, and got up. It was really the least she could do for them, even if she was off the clock. It was her responsibility to mediate between Collins and others, as well as to swoop in and save aforementioned others from some of his more exuberant speeches. A part of her had thought the promotion meant she wouldn't have to be doing this anymore, but apparently Collins had other ideas. Apparently she was to be his social coordinator for life. Why hadn't he called?

Okay, so maybe Charlotte was annoyed with him. He came home on a whim, without telling her first, and then showed up here uninvited and unexpected... and he hadn't even looked at her once since he'd walked in. He'd said a distracted hello to Lizzie or maybe the whole party and then zeroed right in on Darcy. She'd expected a bit more from him, given the way things had been going with them recently. There had been lots of phone calls and Skyping, but she hadn't seen him in the flesh in well over a month. She supposed this was what you got when you expected things.

Charlotte walked over, moving past Darcy, and zeroed in on her own target. She tap Ricky on the shoulder, briefly meeting Lizzie's still-incredulous gaze. He didn't turn around at first, so she tapped him on the shoulder persistently (and harder) until he did. She cleared her throat loudly. "Ricky!" she said finally, a bit louder than she meant to. It came out sounding rough and exasperated. He froze at the sound of his name, his eyes widening a little. That was when she realized she'd called him Ricky instead of Mr. Collins. Apparently, she was more frustrated than she knew. She didn't miss the questioning look Lizzie threw her, but she pointedly ignored it, reaching down to grab Ricky's arm a bit harder than strictly necessary. "I've actually been wanting to talk to you for a while," she said impatiently, removing Ricky's arm from where it had been slung around Darcy's shoulder and the back of his seat.

His eyebrows shot up in some surprise (and alarm), and she faltered for a moment to think of an explanation. "About some of the paperwork and business," Charlotte added after a moment, hoping she sounded businesslike rather than... jealous. Ricky furrowed his brow a little, no doubt wondering what she could possibly have to talk about business-wise after they'd sorted everything out. She paused for a moment, looking over at Darcy, who still looked thunderously annoyed. He was always visibly annoyed and irritated when dealing with Mr. Collins and his effusive speech and praise, especially when it thwarted his attempts to speak to Lizzie, but Darcy was more peeved than she'd ever seen him before.

"Besides," she began sweetly, "I'm sure Darcy would appreciate some time alone with his... girlfriend." She smiled as she said it, as did both Lizzie and Darcy. They shot each other longing, slightly lovestruck looks over the table. Charlotte tore her slightly envious eyes away from them to focus back on Ricky. In looking down, she remembered that her hand was wrapped firmly around his bicep. "Why don't you come with me, and we can talk it over somewhere a bit... quieter?" she suggested, already pulling him towards her.

He blinked but went willingly. He turned back to the rest of the party, inclining his head. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet, and Miss Bennet, I must temporarily take my leave of you to speak with my partner," he said in that overly formal voice. Charlotte pulled him up before he could make that ridiculous rolling hand gesture "adieu" that he was so fond of or say something equally florid and unnecessary. She noticed, though, that he'd dropped the word "business" from the designation. It shouldn't have meant anything, and it probably didn't, of course, but... it felt like it did, this time, him just calling her his _partner_.

Lizzie and Lydia forced smiles, and Darcy's expression was suitably grim and unamused, though she detected some gratitude towards her in that frosty gaze of his. She started to turn Ricky around just in time to see a wide-eyed Lizzie mouthing "thank you" to her. The last time she'd done that had been just before Darcy's first love confession, Charlotte remembered with a wry smile, though a part of her still thought that whole unpleasantness could've been avoided if Lizzie had just gone to the party. Charlotte smiled back at her bestie and started dragging Collins off. He waved and promptly began chattering about something she only half paid attention to.

In their absence, Lizzie and Darcy snuggled back up to each other, fitting together like puzzle pieces. Charlotte smiled to herself, but she couldn't help but feel a bit envious at how comfortable and happy they looked together. A part of her wondered if she'd ever find that. She's content with her life, but not quite so happy as all that. She scanned the room for a quiet corner, and found one just a bit away from the bar, towards the back. Charlotte guided Ricky there, nodding at the appropriate moments in his one-way conversation. She needed additional fortification for this conversation. "Wait here for a minute. I'm going to get a drink. I'll be right back." Ordinarily she would've at least asked him if he wanted anything out of politeness, at the bare minimum, but tonight she wasn't in the mood.

She left without waiting for a response, walking right up to the bar and ordering a Gin and Tonic. She felt like Caroline Lee while doing it, but she needed a bit more alcohol in her system to have a real conversation with Ricky, and she was hoping the alcohol would somehow dilute her irritation. She ended up more or less throwing back the drink like she was back in college because of some stupid jumpy feeling in her stomach and ordering another one when the bartender raised his eyebrows. Fresh drink in hand, delicately sipping it through her straw and promising to pace herself, a slightly-tipsier Charlotte Lu made her way back over to Ricky all in the span of about four minutes.

He eyed her curiously, glancing from the drink to her face, probably wondering what it was. It looked like water with a lime wedge and a red straw if you didn't know better, she supposed. After a moment of looking at her, he cleared his throat professionally, straightening his clothes and running a hand over his tie. "You said you had something business-related to discuss with me?" He particularly emphasized the word "business" this time, further confusing her.

Charlotte nodded, remembering what she'd said to get him away from everyone. Unlike Lizzie, she was not particularly skilled at improvising, but she knew how to manage Mr. Collins after the months of working with him, and she'd learned well how to come up with things on the spot. She meant to say something a bit more tactful, but the gin made her words come a bit more freely and she said instead, "You, uh, don't need to butter Darcy up like that."

He blinked, his brow furrowing a little in confusion. "Whatever do you mean by that, Miss Lu?" he asked, moving a bit closer to her. Charlotte briefly turned away, closing her eyes tightly. Just great. She was "Miss Lu" yet again, in a social, non-work-related situation, and he hadn't even given her a proper hello. She'd probably gotten one of her wires crossed and seen more than was there than really was. What had she been thinking. After a moment, Charlotte turned back around, taking a long drag on her drink. She gave him a rather pointed look.

She prepared herself to pull something out of her ass, though she fully intended to get Darcy to follow through or back her up somehow. She had a permanent in with him now, afterward, and Darcy was much more in the habit of satisfying impossible people with minute gestures. The practical side of her knew, of course, that Mr. Collins was right to try and take advantage of the connection for business reasons, but the way he went about it was a bit gauche.

Charlotte considered it for a few moments, swirling the liquid around in her mouth. She supposed she could tell him about the collaborations that would almost undoubtedly ensue with Lizzie as well, but her friend was still rather untested and had yet to start her business. "I'm actually already working on a deal with Pemberley Digital," she began. "It's for a... temporary project... with the possibility of extension or further deals in the future. It was Ms. de Bourgh's suggestion, of course," she added before he could get a word in edgewise. "We've only just started discussing it, haven't even gotten to the planning stage yet, but I wanted to let you know that we've got something in the works. We haven't ironed everything out yet, of course, so it's all very hush-hush, but I'll keep you informed. We'll put out a press-release."

She paused, hoping she'd said enough to distract or satisfy him and hopefully prevent him from further bothering Darcy unnecessarily. Mr. Collins was silent, looking off to the side and absorbing all that she'd said. He was smiling slightly, though the grin gradually widened. Before he could ask any questions (she saw that look in his eyes), Charlotte licked her lips and then proceeded, "Darcy acquired a small... distribution company recently, so he has to see where that fits into his business model first. It was rather unexpected-" She was gesturing a bit more vigorously than usual, the way he often did, and some of her drink sloshed onto her hand.

"Miss Lu," he interrupted. Charlotte's jaw tightened a fraction. Him calling her that name and insisting on the professional was slowly starting to drive her insane. She tore her eyes away from him, bending down to lick some of the spilled alcohol off her hand. Charlotte felt his stare on her, a bit more intense than usual, but she ignored it. "I think you forget that I too watch Miss Lizzie's videos, though I admit I am not always the most attentive viewer." Strangely, he looked away, flushing a little as he said this, and she wondered what it was that he wasn't saying. It wasn't exactly like Ricky _not_ to say the first thing that came to mind.

Her eyes widened a little at this; neither she nor Lizzie had ever known how frequently or observantly he watched Lizzie's vlogs. Him saying this betrayed a much more nuanced viewing than either of them had anticipated. He cleared his throat, straightening his lapels unnecessarily. "I know of the company you're talking about and why Mr. Darcy really acquired it." A wide-eyed, disbelieving Charlotte could do nothing more than take one long pull after another on her Gin and Tonic. "It was very gentlemanly of him, very much the right thing to do," he began, tempering his pompous praise as usual with some backhanded insults, "though the business sense of such an acquisition is, of course... questionable, given how it flies in the face of established company policies and doesn't exactly fit in well with the family-friendly company legacy and business plan. A rather impetuous purchase, I should say."

She would, of course, be remiss not to point out that she agreed with virtually everything Mr. Collins said. The only difference, perhaps, was that she probably accorded greater weight to the fact that Darcy had bought out an entire company ostensibly for Lizzie and to ease her pain and discomfort. All of that, and he hadn't even wanted the credit (yes, she had seen the unavoidable Domino videos). It was quite a gesture, although one that she had never really felt was fully explained, and of course she had a lot of questions about it from a business perspective. Nonetheless, she smiled politely, cutting Mr. Collins off a bit tightly, "Yes, that. I will definitely keep you posted."

His facial expression was now something uncertain; it looked like he was about to ask another question, or, worse, apologize, when his presence here was literally driving her to drink. She also saw the slowly blossoming excitement on his face as he fully understood what she'd just said, and she sensed an upcoming effusion of praise for her talents and the company's prospects and Darcy's epic business sense—basically the all the sorts of things she had already heard too many times to count. It was getting to the point where she could practically recite one of his many speeches word-for-word. She took a deep breath and then blurted the only question she could think of, "How are things in Canada?"

The excited look on his face quickly sobered. She feels instantly as if she's said the wrong thing. "They're going well," he said, looking away. She recognized it as deflecting, but she wondered what it was that he wasn't telling her. They'd spoken since he'd officially moved, but he didn't say a whole lot about his new life. He spoke more about the business than the personal, about adjusting, but she'd always felt that there was something there that he wasn't telling her, something big.

If things were really going as well as he said they were, he would've said they were excellent, would've exaggerated whatever minute happiness it had brought him. He would've been as effusive as ever with joy. Charlotte regarded him carefully, twirling the bright red straw around her glass. "How's your-How's Jamie?" she asked, tilting her head to the side a little. She'd settled on the personal name rather than the title partly in the hopes of unnerving him. He had never called his fiancée by name to Charlotte's face, never mentioned her unless he could avoid it, unless pressed. Charlotte wasn't really the type to press, but tonight she felt a little different.

His eyes went a bit wider. His expression said, rather plainly: why are you asking me about this? As if he didn't understand why she would care... but, then, it wasn't any of her business, at least in theory, now was it? "She's... well," he said in a similarly awkward voice. His voice was high, close to cracking. He brought his hands together, twiddling his thumbs. He still couldn't look at Charlotte.

She glanced dimly at the remnants of her drink. Maybe four fingers. The second drink she'd ordered had ice, and it was melting into the gin, watering it down. The bartender had gone a bit heavy on the gin the second time around. "Are you two having a good time? Do anything fun together?" she asked. Her voice sounded a bit shrill to her own ears. She brought her drink back up to her mouth. Her teeth found the straw blindly, and she sucked in a long sip, not once taking her eyes off of him. Charlotte didn't really know why she was asking all these questions. It wasn't like her, and she didn't even really want to know the answers.

Maybe it was a perverse sense of curiosity, or maybe she just wanted to make perfectly-pressed and starched Mr. Collins feel uncomfortable. If that was her aim, it was apparently working. His smile was strained, his posture a bit stiffer than usual. "We always enjoy the time we spend together, when we can spare it," he managed a bit tightly. The way he'd phrased it was strange, but, then, he didn't speak about his fiancée the way people usually did. She was always an afterthought, something glossed over. He did not gush or get all lovesick when he mentioned her (which was rather strange, considering his effusive praise of anything and everything, much less anything he was lucky enough to call his own), and he didn't tell any stories about her.

Lizzie was, of course, convinced that this meant Ricky had made her up or something, but Charlotte wasn't sure. It wasn't like Mr. Collins to lie. It was like him overstate things or exaggerate or to be brutally honest. There was some kind of truth there, something drawing him to Winnipeg, though Charlotte couldn't put her finger on it. Either way, the way he spoke about his supposed fiancée didn't bode well for any relationship. The way he acted didn't either; it wasn't exactly the way a fully-committed man ought to act. Collins was fully committed to everything in his life.

Charlotte faked a smile, tipping her drink back and polishing it off. Why am I doing this to myself, she thought. It wasn't like she actually cared about Ricky's fiancée, whom she'd never met and never wanted to meet, even for the sake of her own curiosity. It wasn't like she liked what she was hearing, like she was happy for him or something. It kind of made her feel strange, her chest a bit tighter. It wasn't getting her anywhere, and the whole thing just left her confused. She was pretty sure Ricky was going to snap sooner or later when she pushed him too far, but she couldn't stop pushing. "When's the wedding? Have you set a date yet?"

His eyes went wider than usual, and he coughed loudly, almost violently. She looked down to see that he was drumming his fingers on his sides. "We're planning on a long engagement," he informed her after a moment, "waiting until we can, uh, both get everything settled with our careers." He ran his hands down the front of his blazer and slacks, smoothing them. He tended to get less eloquent when he was experiencing some kind of emotion.

Charlotte frowned, noting that he had failed to answer either of her questions. She was hardly Mrs. Bennet or his own mother, neither of whom would've been satisfied by such a paltry response. She nodded nonetheless, though, as it was the appropriate response, and then she leaned over to set her empty glass down on the closest table. It landed with a loud thud. "I was just wondering when I ought to be expecting my invitation..." she said innocently enough. Her frown, however, deepened at the look on his face. She couldn't put any kind of name to the emotion, though she supposed it vaguely resembled panic and Darcy's "does not compute" face. She leaned forward a little, missing the reassuring weight of the drink in her hand. "I _am_ invited, right, Mister Collins?" It came out serious and expectant as opposed to the joke she'd originally intended.

She stared at him for several long moments in silence. His eyes were still wide, only now his jaw was slack. His brows came together in a way that suggested that he hadn't even considered this. His fingers found the edges of his jacket and started tracing the seams. Everything about him screamed his discomfort. It slowly began to dawn on her that maybe he didn't actually intend to invite her to his wedding. Did he know that she wouldn't want to be there? Was it out of consideration for her... or for himself? She didn't know what to think about that.

He finally managed to break the silence after one very uncomfortable, pregnant minute. "I, uh..." He swallowed convulsively. "We, um..." He amended, all but stammering, "We, uh, we... haven't discussed the guest list yet, much less the invitations." He said it as if he had to force the words out, looking down after saying it, almost as if ashamed. Ricky let out a breath of what could only be described as relief upon finishing the sentence, like he was glad he'd made it through that.

Her brow crinkled a little; he hadn't said he'd invite her. He hadn't explicitly said he wouldn't either, though, and not inviting her would be rude and insulting. Then again, nothing about this supposed wedding seemed all that concrete and coherent, which struck her as strange considering how Mr. Collins liked to iron out every little detail of everything in the workplace. No stone left unturned was practically his motto, if not his actual business model. So she merely stared at him expectantly, crossing her arms over her chest and waiting for him to answer the question she'd asked.

She was gratified somewhat by the sight of him tugging on his tie. His eyes darted around the room like those of a guilty man searching for a distraction. She took a step towards him. "Forgive me, Mr. Collins, but that doesn't exactly sound like you," she replied, taking another big step towards him. She wished she was wearing heels; she liked being almost eye-to-eye with him sometimes. She also wished she could call him Ricky, the way she had in her head and to his face for the past few weeks since that phone call on her birthday, but he'd called her Miss Lu so many times by this point that she'd gotten the message... whatever it was.

By this point, she was pretty sure it was mostly the gin talking, but her fingertips found his collar. She hadn't realized she was standing so close to him until that moment. She had the brief, tantalizing (and impulsive) thought of grabbing his collar, pulling him to her, and kissing him until he forgot all about his maybe-fiancée. Charlotte dismissed the thought as nothing but a whim after a moment of consideration. Her lips curved up faintly at the corner, but it was a bad idea otherwise. Instead she leaned in a little more, a little too close, and her fingertips smoothed over his lapels. "You really do like to plan things out in depth and... talk things over... extensively," she murmured, looking up into his face.

His hands were frozen at his sides, just a few inches down from hers. She pressed his lapels a bit harder than necessary, feeling a bit unsteady. Charlotte was so close she practically felt his Adam's apple bob as he attempted to swallow, making a kind of strangled noise. She was staring into his eyes in an unguarded way she rarely allowed herself to do, made bolder and more inquisitive by the alcohol. After a few moments of this, Collins reached up, seeking out his tie and trying to loosen it. His face was flushed. She ran her fingers down to the points of his lapels. He stiffened further, which she hadn't thought was possible. "Miss Lu, if you don't mind," he began firmly, reaching up to remove her fingertips from his person and gently dropping her hands. "I'd prefer not to talk about my personal business at the present time."

Charlotte was at a rare loss for words. She didn't need to reach up and feel her face to know it was probably hot enough to fry an egg on it. She looked down, feeling suddenly very stupid and wondering what on earth she'd been thinking. That was it, though; she clearly hadn't been thinking at all. Charlotte didn't touch Mr. Collins much, as a general rule, partly because he wasn't that kind of guy and... other reasons... and that... had been overstepping. She drew back immediately, wanting another drink to try and forget about that mortifying moment. There was no mistaking the steel in his voice. But, then again, was _another_ drink really what she needed at the moment?

It occurred to her that she could use some air, but she didn't have that luxury now. She couldn't just leave him here by himself. All she knew was that she needed to get away because she kind of didn't feel like she could breathe, standing here with him, suspended in this painfully uncomfortable moment. For a few seconds, Charlotte contemplated apologizing, but she opted for a quick escape. "I'm going to get another drink," she said hurriedly, gesturing behind her to the bar. Collins nodded, looking relieved, already straightening his clothes even as she turned around.

Something sank inside of her at that. How much had she misread there?

She all but ran to the bar. She only resisted flagging the bartender down with wide, sweeping windmill gestures because she was aware that Mr. Collins could probably see all of this. She didn't want to risk attracting his alarm or sympathy or whatever convoluted manufactured emotional response he could think of. Charlotte leaned into the bar hard, holding her head and wishing she could forget her own stupidity. What was she thinking? The bartender came over after about a minute. He raised a brow. "Another G and T for you?" he asked knowingly, already reaching for a glass. Charlotte bristled at the presumption and shook her head.

She licked her lips distractedly, thinking it over. She did still want something with gin, but something a bit less bitter, something a bit lighter. Then it came to her. "No, actually, I'll have a Tom Collins, thanks." She cringed as she said it, but the bartender merely gave her an odd look before shrugging and beginning to prepare the drink. Ugh, Mr. Collins even influenced her drink choices. The other drink that had immediately sprung to mind was, of course, a Gin Rickey. Idly she wondered what the bartender's reaction would've been if she'd asked for a Rickey Collins. And, if she was really thinking about this, she needed that drink the sooner the better, apparently.

Then the bartender was handing her the drink, and Charlotte was handing him the money with a generous tip. Charlotte took a long, thirsty sip of it. It tasted kind of like lemonade, sweet and lemony, and, God, even the damn drink reminded her of Collins! She closed her eyes for a moment, pained and savoring the taste, before opening her eyes again and returning to her former boss. He was standing exactly where she'd left him, looking uncertain and playing with his hands.

When he saw her, he straightened, frowning a bit at the drink in her hand. She could practically feel him oozing face-saving formality, but she didn't want to hear it. "Miss Lu, perhaps we should..." He motioned to the nearest table, which was behind them and mostly in shadows. Her glass from earlier was the only thing on it, and it made the table look somehow lonelier. Charlotte shook her head vigorously, taking another long pull on her drink. She liked the way the bubbles tickled her tongue. He looked a bit concerned or disappointed but respected her wishes, eying her strangely, as if he expected, well... she didn't know what, exactly.

She swayed on her feet a little, and he reached out towards her, to brace her, though she ducked away from his grip. She hugged her drink to her chest protectively, sipping on it leisurely. His hand was still extended in the air close to her, his hand open for her to reach out to if she needed it. The part of her that had difficulty being mad at him found it sweet, but the rest of her was too annoyed and confused with him to credit him for it. Strangely, he seemed to have moved closer to her. "Miss Lu... you look... er hum, that is, your complexion is rather... radiant, glowing even," he stuttered, gesturing to her face. He attempted a smile, but it just came off looking creepy and wrong.

Charlotte blinked, staring directly at him. Had he just actually said that? Ricky Collins only said things like that to her in her dreams. In real life, he rarely, if ever, commented on her appearance, much less her face, and only then to critique or approve her choice in clothing. Did he want something from her? Then, when the compliment sunk in, she snorted loudly. She wanted to tell him it wasn't her, that it was the booze (which would, in retrospect, explain a lot of her actions up to this point) giving her that "glow" he was complimenting, but she couldn't really even formulate a sentence in response to that comment.

So she found the lemon peel garnish and started nibbling on it instead, puckering her lips at the tart, acidic taste of it. The corrosive, clean taste suited her mood at the moment, she supposed. Why is he back, she wondered, not for the first time. What was he doing here really? Was all of this _really_ just to congratulate Darcy and Lizzie on their relationship, a pathetically thin excuse to network with Lizzie's new rich and powerful boyfriend? She frowned at him, dropping what was left of the lemon peel back into her drink, and then she looked back up at him.

Why did he have to have such trusting eyes, all soft and warm like that? The way he was looking at her—somewhat warily, looking unsure—made her feel bad about second-guessing his motives. She was, however, more tired of waiting for a response that just hadn't come (and didn't seem to be forthcoming), so she sighed wearily and just bit the bullet and asked the damn question. "Why are you here?" she asked bluntly, without any of her usual artfulness or compliments.

He blinked too, somewhat taken aback by the question and the rough way it had come out. Mr. Collins had an answer ready, of course. After a moment, he began the rote response, "I'm here to cong-" She cut him off, preventing him from finishing the sentence. The patience in his voice, not to mention how rehearsed and repetitive it sounded, infuriated her just a little bit more. She didn't have the patience tonight for anything but the truth.

"-I _heard_ what you told Lizzie and Darcy." His mouth closed, and she smiled a bit at the sight. Mr. Collins quiet and attentive was a rare thing to behold. She brought her drink down, away from her mouth. "Now, what's the real reason? Why are you _really_ here?" she continued, staring him down. He looked away, his expression not exactly impassive but stiff. "I know it isn't Darcy's connections that drew you so far out of your way. They're good, but they're not that good," Charlotte said pointedly. Mr. Collins looked ready to dispute that, and he might've even had a point, but all she had to do was give him a look, and he fell silent.

What she'd really meant was that, while Darcy's connections were good... a man in love would not just leave his fiancée in the middle of the week for an impromptu business trip, especially if they were long-distance. And Winnipeg was thousands of miles and an entire country away, so it was long-distance by any calculation. In fact, Darcy's own actions (though the relationship was new) were rather a confirmation of the opposite; a man in love was more inclined to surprise his beloved with an impromptu trip to see her, to prioritize spending time with her over work or other commitments. A committed engaged man would want to be with his future wife always. So Ricky mysteriously dropping in to congratulate Lizzie and Darcy either meant that he considered them very close friends... he had some personal stake in their relationship... or he was looking for a reason to leave Canada.

All of which pointed to cold feet (not surprising, given that the temperatures in Winnipeg were still hovering around freezing) and a lack of commitment. Like he was looking for an excuse or a way out.

And Charlotte _would_ know, after all, since he'd been her way out of here and this dead-end life she'd been living. He was silent for a long moment before smiling tentatively, though she could see the effort in the expression. He let out a feeble chuckle, pointing at her in a motion that echoed his typical self-aggrandizing gesture. "...You're correct as always, Miss Lu." His lips twisted in a gesture she might've labeled as bitter on another person, but on him it just looked... resigned.

Then Mr. Collins started elaborating, slipping into the familiar and comfortable routine of unsolicited praise (did he _know_ that knocked her off-guard and made her feel uncomfortable?). "You have quite a penetrating intellect and such piercing insights into others. I could not have asked for a more perceptive or savvy business partner-" He was doing that thing where he kind of almost clasped his hands together, like he did when he was excited.

Her flush had probably deepened an entire shade, but she merely interrupted once more, trying not to take him at face value. It certainly wasn't anything she hadn't heard before in slightly different wording. Though Collins generally had good intentions and was an honest man, it was sometimes hard to tell when he was being sincere and when he was just deflecting or saying what he thought you wanted to hear. After all this time, he certainly didn't need to put it on for her. Not to mention the fact that she was sure he was saying such nice things in the hopes of distracting her from her question. "Cut it out with the compliments, Collins. I want the truth," she replied. Charlotte stared directly into his eyes, just waiting for him to look away.

He sighed wearily and ran a hand over his face, looking older than his years for once. As she peered at him in the increasingly dim lighting, she noticed, for the first time, the shadows of dark circles under his eyes. He had flown a long way for such little inducement, gone to considerable trouble and discomfort to be here... and why did he want to be here so bad anyway? Her head was trying to come up with a reason, and her heart, well, it was whispering things she had no business thinking in the first place, things that couldn't possibly be true. She found the table and leaned against it, bracing herself.

His shoulders sank just a little. "Fine." He cleared his throat loudly, unnecessarily, shuffling his feet. All of which he did so he could avoid looking directly at her. "I did not come here for the networking opportunities... or to congratulate Miss Bennet and Mister Darcy on their new relationship, though I, of course, heartily approve of the match," he began. Charlotte made a face at the pompousness of his statement; he couldn't just call it a relationship like everyone else? His fingers had begun to trace the buttons on his suit jacket, circling the lowest button, the one left undone. She couldn't help but smirk a little, though, at having gotten him to admit that he had other motives for being here.

Ricky smiled faintly, though, and it hit Charlotte that he was genuinely happy for them. She had wondered, given the way he sometimes acted around Lizzie, but she'd never dared to ask. "They are well-suited for each other. I am... very glad that they have both found felicity together," he said softly, in a way that suggested such perfect happiness was rare. "They're... fortunate." At that very moment, he looked up at Charlotte, his gaze unguarded and maybe a little sad. It was like he was trying to impart something to her with that look. She wondered, hardly for the first time this night, about his fiancée. If she existed, did she make him happy?

Did he consider himself lucky to have her?

All signs were pointing to no, even if Charlotte completely discounted the growing intimacy of their almost-nightly phone calls and Skype sessions. She'd let it get that way, even encouraged it. She talked to him in her pajamas, then in a camisole, her hair down and face absent of make-up. She talked to him from her old bedroom, on her bed, sometimes after having a bit of wine first. She tried to tell herself that none of that was a big deal, that it didn't mean anything. He'd seen her in less, of course, and most of the time he wasn't even actually seeing her... though there were more late night Skype sessions than she would've ever admitted to anyone.

Her mother had even asked her about it, coming to Charlotte all excited and slightly concerned that her daughter was talking to a strange man at night. She'd been considerably disappointed when Charlotte had told her she was talking to Ricky and not some exotic stranger. She had not said "Just Ricky?" in that tone of dying hope and disbelief, but her mother had. Her mother worried sometimes that she worked too hard, that she put up with too much, and maybe she blamed herself, but... Charlotte really didn't have any other setting than full-on workaholic.

Maybe her mother was right to worry, but she probably should've realized that even Ricky Collins didn't always talk about business after eleven at night.

He'd been sending her more emails than usual, more emails than were strictly necessary. She couldn't tell if he was playing dumb on purpose or if he was just more distracted and anal-retentive as of late since he couldn't physically come barge into her office. She tried not to count that because it made her second-guess herself and reminded her of what she'd thought... of what she'd imagined would happen the next time she really saw him in person.

Charlotte nodded, her brows shooting up slightly. "Oh?" She drew out the word expectantly, watching him carefully. She'd meant to sound surprised, but she doesn't even really sound surprised to herself, just smug. She took a sip of her drink to hide the smile on her face. "Then why did you come?" she asked, genuinely curious, hinging forward on the tips of her toes. Ricky had moved closer to the table too, but he wasn't touching it like she was. She could feel the side of her mouth curving up into what threatened to become a silly grin. It all depended on his answer, and she didn't know what to think.

He blinked and looked around the bar. "I did not come for a visit because I long to return home or to... relive long-lost pleasant childhood memories." He swallowed hard. Charlotte was painfully aware at that moment, as she was sure he was, that there was very little, if anything, for him here. Nothing but her and the younger Bennet sister at the moment... and his childhood memories. But this place wasn't either of their homes anymore. They'd made new lives for themselves. She waited patiently for his response. He rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, hesitating. "I... came here to see you." He said all at once, so it almost sounded like one word.

Charlotte was silent, processing it, trying to convince herself that she hadn't misheard him. He was staring at her with those big eyes, waiting with bated breath. "Oh," she said distractedly. Ricky deflated a little at the word, but she barely noticed. Charlotte blinked. If she was the type, she might've pinched herself. "Did you just say... you came here to see me?" she asked incredulously. Maybe she'd mistaken him; maybe he had been... _nervous_ the entire time? What did he have to be nervous about, though? It was just her.

He nodded, lacing his fingers together anxiously. "I assure you most earnestly," he began with a bit of his usual bombast. It faded away when he paused, his voice so low and barely above a whisper that she had to lean towards him to hear. "That I came here to see _you_..." A part of her still didn't believe he'd said that, even though he'd repeated himself, and she was sure if she looked she'd see the earnestness he spoke of in his eyes. He flexed his fingers, like he wanted to do something else with them. "That was, er, my main aim," he confessed.

Then she smiled quite against her will, widely, unable to resist glancing over at Darcy and Lizzie, as he'd unintentionally echoed the other man's words. Darcy was leaning in, saying something to her, and Lizzie was smiling. After a moment, she snapped her gaze back over to Ricky to find him looking rather bashful, his gaze down. He seemed to be looking at her drink instead of her. If at all possible, her eyebrows shot up even more in disbelief. It was one thing to hear him saying things over the phone... quite another to have him before her saying such things, but when he was in front of her, she couldn't doubt he meant it.

She nodded distractedly, licking her lips. Charlotte cleared her throat, wishing she were a bit more sober, that she didn't feel a bit lopsided. Then again, how could she not feel out of sorts when he was saying things like that? She leaned a bit more heavily on the table. It took her longer than usual to find her voice, and when she did, it came out husky. "And why did you choose today?" she asked, glancing up at him. How far in advance had he planned this?

Ricky shrugged almost helplessly. "I... wanted to see you. It's been so long since I've had the delight of encountering you in person." His hand reached up, as if to rake his fingers through his unruly hair, but he stopped midway there, bringing his hand back down to his side. Meeting with her was a delight? He'd just said almost three times in as many minutes that he wanted to see her, but he'd never said anything like that over the phone. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wearing a distinctly uncomfortable expression.

"Today seemed as good a day as any," he said, nibbling on the corner of his bottom lip like a rabbit. His eyes were scanning her like she was a sight for sore eyes, drinking her in as if he were dying of thirst, as if he'd forgotten what she looked like. It made her feel a bit unsteady, him looking at her that way with his full attention. Realizing he'd been staring, he cleared his throat again, loudly. He then proceeded to overcompensate by trying and failing to be self-important, even with the hand gestures, which made him look more like he was flailing than actually saying anything of import. "Naturally, I assumed you would do something to commemorate the last episode of Miss Bennet's vlog, and I..."

His voice softened, and he clasped his hands together once again. He kept shooting her furtive glances like an embarrassed schoolboy. He hadn't been like that then, though. He had been just as easily excitable and exuberant then as he was now, just as irrepressible, always talking a mile a minute. "I figured that it would be difficult for you and Miss Bennet to let go of a project that's been such an instrumental part of your lives for the past year," he murmured. There was a kind of shadow over his face, and she had a sinking feeling that maybe he regretted handing his company over to her. It was, after all, his life's work, his ambition, the "most important part" of his life.

His decision to move had always puzzled her. She didn't get why he would want to start over in Winnipeg, other than his fiancée and professed love of the city. It was cold there, and there were higher start-up costs because he wasn't in Silicon Valley anymore, not to mention the exchange rate! Why put in so much work only to give it all up to... what, get away from Catherine de Bourgh? If it was for love or because he wanted a break... that was one thing, but Charlotte had always wondered why his fiancée never visited, why she wasn't willing to move.

She nodded slowly, feeling a pang just thinking about it. It's strange just to think that there would be no more videos on Mondays and Thursdays, no more late nights spent editing together footage with Lizzie. She slid her hand across the table towards him.

Charlotte looked at his arm, wanting to reach out but not knowing how he would react. She stared at the familiar charcoal gray of his suit, remembering how the silk-wool blend felt under her fingers. He looked more professional and businesslike in black, but a bit too serious; Mr. Collins wore black suits because he wanted to make a good first impression and because it was de rigueur. He preferred softer colors, though, and this particular suit was his favorite. It was Charlotte's favorite too because it was a bit flashy but more relaxed. The cut was more flattering too, making him look longer, making his chest look broader.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to look her in the eyes. She realized she'd been staring at his chest and tore her eyes away from it. His fingers edge towards hers, towards the hand that still rests on the table, but they don't make it all the way and end up just hovering in the air. "I thought you could, perhaps, use some support," he added reluctantly. His lips twitched as if he were attempting a smile. Ricky stared at her hand like he wanted to do something about it. Charlotte looked down at the table, surveying its glossy surface, running a finger over it.

He was right. It was going to be hard for her to let go of the Diaries too, though they haven't been as large a part of her life as they have been of Lizzie's, not for many months at least. But it was something they shared, and now they don't, and she knows the phone calls and emails will be fewer and further between. They'll both be buried by work and meetings, despite their geographical closeness, and Lizzie will be distracted by her new boyfriend and all of his friends, and they won't have as much time for each other even though they'll be only an hour or so apart. Charlotte smiled faintly, wishing he would take her hand or touch her, but he didn't do either of those things.

He ran his hands down his jacket, smoothing it unnecessarily. "The ever-accommodating Mrs. Bennet was kind enough to direct me here when I arrived," he informed her. Ricky made a face, gesturing vaguely in Lydia's direction. He leaned in a little, cupping a hand to the side of his mouth and whispering, "I think she may be trying to set me up with the Young Miss Bennet." As if aware of this, Lydia threw her head back and let out a particularly loud cackle of laughter. He looked so particularly scandalized as he said it that Charlotte laughed out loud, a belly laugh, so loud that she attracted the attention of some of the other patrons. She had a vague memory of editing the footage from Episode 37, lingering a bit too long on Ricky's discomfort when Lydia got all up close and personal.

Ricky frowned, adorably confused and somewhat discomfited. He cleared his throat, gesturing with one hand, curling and uncurling her fingers. "I can't say I understand, as I'm certain that she has been informed about my engagement, but she merely winked at me and mentioned her youngest daughter's manifold charms and _engaging_ personality. I could not disagree with her, that would've been impolite, of course, but, well... the youngest Miss Bennet is a bit for-" He stopped and frowned, thinking better of it, and coughed a single time. "-not _exactly_ to my taste," he said primly, with a single, appropriate nod.

Charlotte nodded, smirking a little but containing the laughter that wanted to bubble out, thinking it a vast understatement. He and Lydia had nothing in common, and Ricky was uncomfortable with such direct attention. Then again, he didn't exactly know Mrs. Bennet very well if he didn't get why she attempted to throw him at her daughters. Encouraged, Ricky continued, "Anyway, Mrs. Bennet told me that you were celebrating the end of Miss Bennet's Diaries and your promotion." She nodded again, feeling a bit like a bobblehead. She could do more than just nod.

He looked down, interlocking his fingers and rocking them back and forth. "As I have come to be a part of your friend's confessional-style video blog and a part of your lives over the past year, I thought perhaps that my company would not be unwelcome," he said almost timidly. He hung his head a bit; he didn't miss the looks, apparently. He said it as if he now wonders if his presence is unwelcome, like a question, in a way that kind of broke Charlotte's heart. She recognizes that hangdog look on his face—he's looking for reassurance. He needs a _lot_ of reassurance, and she's known for some time it's because he doesn't really think quite so high of himself (and with the parents he has, she couldn't blame him).

He cast a shy glance over at Lizzie and Darcy, and it kind of clicked in her head. He was trying to save her from being the third wheel. She smiled a bit lopsidedly, appreciating it. Ricky could be sweet in the most unexpected ways, right when you needed it. He'd always been like that.

It was all a terribly roundabout way of asserting his presence despite the lack of invitation, particularly since he was the one who organized the power transfer, indeed the entire reason she has her current job. If he'd been in town or even in the country, she probably would've invited him, despite Lizzie's protestations, even if he didn't invite himself. "And you're not wrong about that," she said. She smiled at him broadly, swirling her drink around. She was sure Lizzie, Darcy, and Lydia would disagree with that, but she didn't particularly care. She could apologize to Lizzie later (huh, apologizing as if were Ricky her responsibility, strange).

But, then, maybe a part of her wanted him to be.

It was worth it to see him relax, to perk up a bit. "I'm glad you're here to celebrate with us. It really means a lot that you came all this way. It's so _far_," she remarked, tilting her head to the side and regarding him. She took her hand off of the table so she could stir her drink with the straw, moving into it so that her elbows and most of her weight rested on the table. She needed to do something with her hands, so she didn't reach out to him or do something similarly foolish.

Collins smiled lopsidedly, shifting his shoulders. "Well, you know me. I can never resist the opportunity to celebrate your particular skills, now can I?" He tugged on one of his lapels. He was already beginning to move away from the table. Ricky paused for a moment, watching her with eyes that crinkled at the corners. His smile turned close-mouthed but was no less warm, even as he offered his arm up to her. She wavered a moment, staring at his arm as if she'd never seen it before. What was he doing? What was he offering? But here he was, holding out his arm for her, and he so rarely did things like that, inviting touch and closeness.

She leaned forward before rocking back, pushing herself away from the table. Ultimately, though, she wasn't exactly sure she could walk straight on her own, and she was used to humoring Ricky's whims. After a moment of deliberation, she matched the smile, slow and thoughtful, and started to loop her arm in with his. "Besides, Miss Lu, I believe I owe you a drink at the very least," he replied. He came all this way because he owed her a drink? Really, that was what they were going with?

His smile was soft but not tentative, more than that. Charlotte began to wonder if he was flirting with her. How did Ricky even flirt intentionally? Was she really expending so much effort wondering about what her childhood crush thought about her and how he was acting? Some of the more evocative things he said could certainly be interpreted... sexually... if one was so inclined. He had a strange, vivid way of talking, mentioning things like fertility and plunging into unknown depths in regular conversation, those sorts of things... but what was it like when he wanted... She still couldn't exactly conceptualize Mr. Collins as a sexual being, even after all these months.

"What are you talking about? You don't owe me anything," she protested, bemused, pulling her arm out of his. Charlotte had a whole spiel prepared about how much he'd given her, how he'd given her more chances than anyone and how, if anything, she owed _him_ for his generous offer all those months ago. She'd said it before, of course, but sometimes one needed to repeat things for them to sink in for Mr. Collins. She was even going to try to keep herself from saying that she didn't know where she'd be without him except unemployed, further in debt, and probably defaulting on her student loans right about now (all of which was true, but she didn't want to tell him just how dependent she really was on him and his favor).

However, she didn't get to say any of that, as Ricky gently took her elbow, robbing her of speech. There was just the thin polyester film of her blouse keeping his hand from her bare skin. He shook his head firmly and began guiding her unwilling body towards the bar. She was too dazed to struggle or refuse. "Yes, I _do_," he insisted, frowning at her. His hand slipped down the inside of her arm to circle her wrist. His thumb was directly over her pulse point, and she hoped he didn't feel the way her heart rate had jumped when he touched her. Charlotte did her best to resist a full-body shiver at the unexpected sensation.

He tugged at her wrist, pulling her along, intent on reaching their destination. Charlotte, however, could think of nothing more than the tingling feeling all the way down her arm. All of her awareness was focused on a single spacial point; the wrist he held in his hand. Ricky was speaking, but she barely heard him. "Since I wasn't there on your birthday. I believe it's called repaying the favor?" He looked at her a few moments too long with those puppy eyes she could never say no to, and she felt something inside of her caving, following him willingly.

"I know it certainly meant a lot to _me_ when you escorted me to dinner on my birthday," he added a moment later. Charlotte made a face; escorted, really? Still, the softness in his voice made her insides all jumpy. She distractedly brought her drink up to her mouth, blindly seeking out the straw with her lips and tongue. Ricky swallowed hard and looked away from her face. "Just please allow me to do this for you... as a way of thanking you for all you've done for me and the company," he said firmly, lightly squeezing her wrist.

Charlotte laughed, but she couldn't deny that his words hadn't warmed her heart and spirits considerably. She was desperately trying to distract herself from the way something inside of her had jumped at how he'd touched her. "You _promoted_ me, Ricky!" she interjected vaguely incredulously, gesturing so vigorously with an upheld hand that some of the too-full drink spilled over onto the floor. They'd stopped midway to the bar. She waved it off dismissively. "I really don't think you need to buy me a drink as a token... It's pretty clear how you feel about me." She fell silent, realizing how that had come out.

She hadn't meant it like that, to sound like she was even remotely sure how he felt about her, because she wasn't sure about any of that. Charlotte hadn't meant to intimate that it was more than that at all. She'd meant it in the work sense, that promoting her and practically handing her his company (she even owned a share of the company now) spoke more for his regard and respect than anything he could possibly say to her. And he'd already said plenty on numerous occasions, especially when he'd finally signed the papers giving her the company just this week.

Ricky froze, staring at her not unlike a deer in headlights. If she wasn't so on edge and panicked from what she'd inadvertently said (too much), she might've found it funny. Instead, she swallowed hard and looked away. He blinked dumbly, completely silent for one very long minute. It feels eternal. Charlotte flushed at her words, biting the corner of her lip. She hoped he would think her blush was from the alcohol rather than her embarrassment. She held his distracted stare, hoping she hadn't scared him off like a frightened rabbit.

"It... is?" It came out strangled, a question. His jaw was a little slack, his eyes wide. Not knowing what else to do, she nodded shyly, wishing she could somehow reassure him that it was okay—and, hey, whoa now, does this mean he has actual feelings for her or just... professional or friendly feelings? Charlotte looked away, reaching up to fish the maraschino cherry from her drink with her straw. She got the cherry to the surface of her drink and brought it up to her lips, taking a bite. She heard, rather than saw, Ricky gulp.

There was nothing that could be said to make the moment less awkward. So Charlotte merely finished off the cherry and dropped the stem back in her drink before taking a thirsty sip. She'd finished about half of her drink, and she didn't really think getting drunker was a good move at this point. She scanned their surroundings to find the closest table and reached out to set her drink down on it. A stray memory of her welcome-to-the-company dinner struck her then, of how awkward it was after Mr. Collins had stopped talking, and there was just silence and her standing there next to him at the head of the table, forcing a smile.

Then she turned around, to go back to him, but, suddenly, there he was. Charlotte nearly ran into him, just managing to stop herself from colliding with him. He was closer than she'd realized. She held her hands up in that surrendering position for a few moments too long, staring up into the deep brown eyes of her business partner. Had there always been flecks of green in his eyes, or had she just never noticed before? For about a minute Charlotte just stared, not knowing what she was looking for, before something inside of her compelled her to do something more.

She wasn't consciously thinking of it, but she moved just a little closer. If Collins moved at all, she didn't notice. Her tongue swept across her lips, tasting lemon, sugar, a hint of juniper, and the remnants of her lip-gloss. Her hands had just alighted on his shoulders, intent on sinking down, firming up her grip, when he turned away with an abruptness that bewildered her. In a single fluid moment, he'd turned away so that her hands slid from his shoulders and then proceeded to grab her upper arm. He was very pointedly not looking at her, and his expression was inscrutable, maybe frustrated. He was directing her to get drinks with alacrity, before she could so much as say a word. Something a lot like disappointment started to sink down into her bones.

Had she really just tried to kiss him, leaned towards him with that intent in her head?

The part of her that wasn't mortified wanted to shake him until he told her what he wanted from her so that she wasn't so damn confused anymore. She stared at him numbly, as if that would help her figure him out or tell her where his head was at. It didn't. They were, however, at the bar before she could say anything.

The bartender (fortunately or unfortunately, depending on the way one looked at it) interrupted the moment, "What's it gonna be?" Then, of course, the bartender saw it was her, and she saw him open his mouth. "Gin?" he asked knowingly, smirking at her. Ricky turned to shoot her a questioning expression, which she chose to ignore. Charlotte scowled at the bartender; she was not in the mood to put up with a would-be smart-ass commenting on her drink choices. She was fairly certain he would burst into laughter if Ricky introduced himself. Ricky attempted to smile at him the way Mr. Collins would—politely but earnestly.

The awkwardness hadn't quite dissipated. Mr. Collins got out his wallet as coolly as he could. "Now, what will you be having, Miss Lu?" he asked surprisingly smoothly. He glanced over at her with a nonchalance she wished she could feel or even feign. It was a strangely GQ sort of moment for him. She met his gaze for a moment, silent. More alcohol would definitely be a bad idea in this circumstance, especially since she was already feeling kind of weak in the knees and unsteady. Maybe even a bit nauseous. She tried rather unsuccessfully to tell herself those feelings had nothing to do with Ricky.

Charlotte leaned forward, addressing the bartender. "I'll have a Shirley Temple with extra cherries." He gave her a look of actual disbelief. She turned around to face Ricky, who was staring at her, surprise written all over his face. Apparently he remembered that she didn't have much of a sweet tooth. "How about you split it with me?" she said, raising her voice so she could be heard over the crowd and the music. She knew he secretly liked them, preferred them, even, as much as he pretended to enjoy drinking wine or scotch during social occasions. Ricky blinked, looking somewhat taken aback. The bartender gave her a look that said he very much wanted to roll his eyes but set the drink in front of her.

Upon noticing that there was only one bright red straw in it, she threw the bartender a nasty look. He scowled back but put the extra straw in the glass nonetheless with a sarcastic flourish. Collins was suddenly at her elbow, handing him the money, which the bartender accepted before backing away, no doubt mumbling to himself about their ridiculousness. Charlotte picked the drink up carefully, sliding onto the nearest barstool. After wiping his hands on his pants, Collins took the seat next to hers. She set the drink down between them so that it was equidistant.

They were almost eye-to-eye. She leaned in a little too close. She didn't know what, exactly, she was intending, but she saw the way he swallowed, hard, at her sudden proximity. He shifted on his barstool. He was practically radiating discomfort, so Charlotte drew back, straightening her spine and remembering the anger. "You didn't even say so much as hello to me when you walked in. What was the deal with that?" she asked accusingly. It came out snappish, but she supposed it was better to appear annoyed than, well, than anything else. The fact that he hadn't said hello or really acknowledged her at all upon his entrance chafed at her, pained her like a hangnail. She reached out to play with her straw, doing her best not to look at Ricky, needing to occupy herself somehow.

The truth is that she was mad at Ricky for a lot of things, and she'd been bottling it up for a while. Of course he annoyed her and got on her nerves on an almost daily basis. He didn't always stick up for her with Catherine, and sometimes he even inadvertently insulted her. She was tired of him not calling her by her first name and giving her menial tasks and infringing upon what little free personal time she did have. Charlotte was frustrated that he never paid her the kind of attention she wanted from him, and she was pissed that he'd virtually ignored her in favor of chatting up Darcy. But she was even more mad at herself for being mad that he wasn't around anymore, for missing him, and for liking him so much more than she was meant to.

She heard the sound of fabric shifting and assumed he was smoothing his clothes. Charlotte felt, rather than saw, him move toward her slightly. He was close enough to touch her, to reach out, but once again he didn't. Finding herself increasingly irritated, Charlotte closed her eyes and waited for the effusive apology she knew was coming. "I didn't mean to appear rude, Miss Lu. That was not at all my intention..." He went on like this for a while, in that anxious why-don't-you-like-me-have-I-done-something-to-ups et-you-I'm-sorry tone of his. She'd learned in the past year why he spoke like that. It was more than just not being popular in school. He spoke like that, worse, in fact, to both of his parents... and he could never say no to anything they asked of him. Indeed, he practically tripped over himself to please and appease them, to attract their attention and love, and his parents were not particularly easy people to get along with.

More often than not, she felt bad for Ricky, pitied him, even. Maybe that was why she defended him so much to Lizzie, because it was like kicking him when he was down. Yeah, even _she_ didn't believe that was the real reason she'd been so insistent on Lizzie not insulting him. Charlotte shook her head as if to knock the unwelcome thought from it. She really didn't need to get into those reasons now.

By this point, he had no doubt noticed her seeming disinterest, but he still didn't touch her, not even a tap on the shoulder or a tug on her sleeve. It was starting to be a bit disheartening. He sighed, and if she strained her senses, she could almost feel the breath on her shoulder. But she was being ridiculous, of course, imagining things that weren't there. Then again, that was apparently her entire relationship with Ricky, sorry, Mr. Collins: her seeing signs that weren't really there, her desires and constant wanting more interfering with the actual view. "It's not, of course, that I didn't notice you, Miss Lu," he said softly, after a brief pause in his incessant speech. She didn't notice, but maybe Ricky kept shooting little glances over at her when he thought she wasn't looking, each look a moment longer.

Charlotte, however, doubted that; when had Ricky Collins ever noticed her the way she wanted him to? She'd had to trick him into pitching to her and had practically had to put up a neon sign for him to offer her the partnership. She suppressed a sigh, circling the rim of the drink distractedly.

That and, lately, every time he called her "Miss Lu," it set her jaw on end. She shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. She was wrong to expect anything from a few phone calls. He swallowed again, apparently finding it difficult to find the right words. "I could never-" He'd begun the statement with such vehemence only to stall like that and go mute that Charlotte simply had to open her eyes and look over at him. At this direct stare and attention, Ricky froze even further. His eyes were wide, but he managed to hold her stare for almost thirty seconds before coughing and looking away. "I merely didn't want to disturb you or draw undue attention," he added a moment later, his voice a bit lower.

She raised both brows in silent question, leaning on the bar and craning her neck forward to take a sip of the Shirley Temple. It was a little too sweet, so much so that it made her a little sick. She felt like a child doing it and drew back as soon as she was done, idly tracing the edge of the bar with her index finger. Mr. Collins met her gaze for a moment before accepting that as encouragement to go on. He didn't usually wait. "You see," he began, pointing his finger and then gesturing towards his face, "you were wearing that particular expression that only graces your face when you're not having a good time or are rather tired of the subject matter, the one that usually means you would like me to intervene and rescue you from a particularly dull investor..." He said it almost fondly, with a kind of little smile, rather than the disapproving or lecturing voice she would've expected.

Charlotte straightened abruptly in her seat; that was unexpected. How transparent she must be if Ricky Collins noticed her... boredom wasn't quite the right word, disinterest, maybe, the feeling of being out of place? Furthermore, the whole thing betrayed a personal awareness of her that she hadn't thought him capable of. She could feel her brow further furrowing in confusion, and she shifted. She didn't like it when Mr. Collins was right about things. He held his hands out as he talked, moving them around almost in circles. The movements got faster when he was excited. "And I know that Mr. Darcy tends to be taciturn... and rather unsociable, so I figured I ought to... redirect his attention so that you could be free to interact with one or both of the Misses Bennets," he explained, smiling slightly. She could read the question in his eyes; "did I do the right thing?" as clearly as if he'd actually said it.

She blinked, processing everything he'd said. With Collins it sometimes took an extra minute or two to decipher what his real meaning actually was. When it sank in, a few moments later than it would've usually, thanks to the alcohol, she nodded. He'd talked to Darcy so that she could talk to her friends, made a fool of himself (though whether or not he knew he was doing that was something else entirely), just so that she could have Lizzie to herself. The gesture was so sweet and so unexpectedly thoughtful that tears almost pricked at the corners of her eyes. To distract Collins from her sudden burst of emotion, she pushed the drink towards him slowly. "That's um, very considerate of you, Mr. Collins. How did you notice that?" she said a few moments later, when she'd taken a breath and mastered herself a bit better. There was still a touch too much breathless wonder in her voice, but that couldn't be helped.

It later occurred to her that the correct response would've been, perhaps, to say that Darcy _wasn't_ being taciturn or unsociable and that she hardly needed rescuing... but Darcy attempting to socialize was really quite painful for everyone except, perhaps, Lizzie, who was too happy to notice the strain. Darcy clearly still couldn't believe his luck in landing Lizzie and was probably overjoyed that he was talking to her, much less allowed to hold her hand, so his good mood made an uneasy task seem easier than it was. Besides, she'd much rather talk to her former boss, as sad as that was.

He reached out for the drink, holding it up and taking a long sip from it. Ricky even closed his eyes to savor the taste, and Charlotte had to shut hers so that she didn't stare at his lips pursed around the straw, sucking. Her sanity did not need that image burned into her brain. She clutched the edge of the bar a little harder, only opening her eyes when she heard the drink slosh and then the soft thud of the glass on the bar. She opened her eyes to see and hear him smacking his lips. He mumbled some compliment about the drink that she only half-heard. Then he chuckled in the way he did when he was putting it on a little but didn't want her to notice, not wholly merry or warm, but close enough. She usually found the chuckle to be a bit business-y and pretentious. "Oh, Miss Lu, as any good partner would, I've grown attuned to your moods and expressions thanks to considerable time and exposure," he assured her.

She was dumbfounded. Exposure? She might've found his words condescending if he wasn't saying things like that he'd grown attuned to her presence. "...Y-you have?" she managed after a minute or two, smoothing her hair down. Charlotte cast a glance over at the drink he was currently sipping. Was this drink spiked? Was she just imagining these things?

Ricky nodded, giving her a strange look, like he thought she were unbalanced. "Why, yes. I'm certain you're equally attuned to my moods and desires as well, if not better, than I am to yours," he said a moment later, not even pausing to think about it. He set the drink down, passing it over to her. Apparently he thought she looked parched. The fact that she could swear she heard his voice in her head saying that was a sign that she was probably a little _too_ attuned. Charlotte blinked; had he just said something about his _desires_?

She stared at Ricky unseeingly, and he straightened, tugging on his collar. Charlotte reached out blindly, finding a straw and putting it to her lips so she could take a sip. Unbeknown to her, she'd chosen the straw he'd just been drinking from. Ricky, however, noticed and swallowed hard. "Indeed," he added warily. He was trying to issue more meaningless compliments, the kind he was comfortable with. "Your every action, your every word, seems designed to please," he pronounced, gesturing to her with an open palm.

Charlotte had been sipping the Shirley Temple, pretending to enjoy Sprite, but upon hearing this, she choked and sputtered on her drink, spewing it all over the bar. She set the drink down warily, blinking furiously and coughing some more. A concerned Ricky reached out to pat her back, mistaking her coughing for something natural and not a gut response. Unfortunately, the uncharacteristic act of Ricky touching her made her cough even harder, to the point where she actually found it physically hard to breathe. Ricky loomed in her vision, his eyes seeming almost cartoonishly wide. "Are you all right, Miss Lu?" he asked, gently turning her to face him. She could hear the concern in his voice. He was still patting her back lightly, trying his best to soothe.

She kept coughing, though she dimly registered Mr. Collins asking for a glass of water and lightly dabbing her face with a paper napkin, almost skittishly. Someone—him or the surly bartender—set a glass of ice water down in front of her, and Charlotte coughed violently for a few more minutes, trying to catch her breath, before she felt like drinking. Her throat was sore. She sought out the water thirstily, almost blindly, wrapping her mouth around the straw and sipping carefully. Ricky was still rubbing her back and shoulders, and she relaxed a little, trying to get used to the sensation.

Charlotte could still feel his gaze on her, could sense the concern he was radiating. She smiled at him weakly. Once she looked at him, he seemed to realize that he was touching her and took his hand off of her back, looking flustered and ready to apologize at any minute. Charlotte looked away, clenching her jaw. She was still blinking furiously. "I'm fine, Ricky," she gritted out, thereby preventing him from saying whatever ridiculous thing was going to come out of his mouth. Her voice sounded gravelly. "It just went down the wrong pipe." She attempted to smile once more and ran a hand over her throat, bending down to take a few more sips of the water.

Just like that there was that tension between them again, stretched taut like a wire, and that feeling that she was waiting for something to happen. Something that maybe was never going to happen or that she had to make happen. She set her elbows down on the bar, staring at the bottles arranged behind the counter, and sighed. She didn't look at Ricky, who was busy pretending to be occupied with his Shirley Temple. For her own part, she was staring into her water, her feet trying to find the rungs in the stool, and all of her wondering how she'd gotten here.

Eventually, she couldn't take it anymore, and Charlotte slapped her hand down on the bar with more force than intended, so much so that Ricky kind of jumped. "Why do you always call me Ms. Lu?" she demanded, whirling around to face him.

He looked down guiltily, as if embarrassed or uncomfortable. Ricky was speechless for a long moment. "I don't _always_ call you Miss Lu," he said a bit defensively, his voice a little lower. Charlotte gave him a look, raising her brows a little. "Haven't I been calling you by your first name on our recent phone calls?" He gave her a pointed look, and Charlotte felt herself flush a little. She rubbed the back of her neck. She didn't really know why; it wasn't like there was any _actual_ impropriety in their various late-night phone calls, but there was a kind of intimacy in it, in the aimless chatting, filling the silence with words that said less than the undertones beneath them. Business had become little more than a veneer with them, a pretext for starting conversations that soon wound up being different.

They held the stare just a little too long, and Charlotte felt some sort of current pass between them.

It was Ricky who broke the stare, averting his gaze briefly as he took a timid sip of their shared drink. He rested a hand on the bar before tapping it lightly. A nervous gesture, Charlotte reflected. She tilted her head to the side and then looked at him. "I have the utmost professional respect for you, Miss L-" he assured her profusely, stopping at Charlotte's dirty look.

His shoulders slumped a little, but he just licked his lips and started up again. "I wouldn't want you to think that our... previous acquaintance has anything to do with our relationship in the workplace... with what I think of you as an employee," he said, gesturing a bit too wildly. She watched as he steepled his fingers, then forcibly laced them together, before tearing his fingers apart and making wide movements with his outstretched hands. Charlotte merely regarded him coolly, watching him work himself up. Maybe she was enjoying it a bit more than she let on. She wouldn't admit it to anyone, but her childhood memories of Ricky filtered into her thoughts of him more often than was probably healthy (and more than he would probably like, to be honest).

Sometimes, when she needed to remind herself why she was doing this, why she liked Ricky as a human being, she thought back to the past. She remembered childhood kickball games, how Ricky would run and run and how his energy never seemed to flag. He went after the ball with a tenacity she'd never seen before—but that was Ricky, always more excited than the other kids, more excited than was natural or fashionable. He was cute but smaller than the other kids, his hair curlier and flopping into his eyes.

And Lizzie had asked him to marry her, mostly to please her mother but in part because she'd thought Ricky was cute and nice, even if he was a yucky boy, and they had a lot in common. He'd said yes because Lizzie was fearless and intimidating (and the prettiest girl in their class), and no one but her mother ever said no to her. In a way she wasn't really surprised, since they had that same kind of energy and bright life force. And something inside Charlotte, something she couldn't quite name, had kind of deflated and been disappointed upon hearing that. She hung out with Ricky more, after all, since they played kickball together almost every day and were on the same soccer team.

Ricky had been more or less the same in middle school, just a bit taller, scrawnier, and a hundred times more awkward. In some ways she thought adolescence was a trauma Ricky still hadn't fully recovered from. He'd gotten into gaming, became a bit of a nerd and a suck-up, and it was uncomfortable for him. He didn't have many friends, though all the teachers liked him. Other kids made fun of him behind his back, to his face even. He was bullied, pushed around, and led on. It didn't help that he was one of the most gullible people she'd ever met. Still, that natural ebullience and enthusiasm didn't wane. She saw him slump sometimes, which was the only way she was sure he understood that he was being insulted, and sometimes he told the teachers, not half as often as he should have, though.

Lizzie was popular; she was in plays, the life of the party, full of dreams and big ideas. Charlotte was artsy and did the behind-the-scenes things on set and crew. Ricky was an outsider on the fringes of their social group. Lizzie had started to roll her eyes at him, though Charlotte did detect a kind of pity in her gaze when Ricky asked a few too many questions or went on one of his painfully awkward tangents in class.

In high school he was more or less the same as he was now, except perhaps a bit less self-absorbed and more insecure. He grew a beard that seniors were envious of (but reluctantly, and he shaved religiously almost every day). He was oddly focused and driven, much more so than the average high school student. He took classes with a mind towards business, the harder the better. While Charlotte would be reluctant to label Ricky an idiot, and she'd hardly call him stupid by any means, she would say that there were some pretty obvious limitations to his intelligence. It didn't come naturally for him, like it did for Lizzie. Nothing in life, in fact, did, but he worked so hard and was so ambitious one almost forgot about that. She had a bit more to work with than Ricky did, but she understood what that felt like.

Ricky had somehow fallen into their social circles (a mixture of the dramatic, musical, and the smart), though he was a bit too overbearing for anyone to want to hang around with for substantial periods of time. Lizzie and Charlotte had continued on much as they had been, with Lizzie performing and Charlotte helping, always kind of in her shadow. Then they got into video production, a natural extension of their interests, and Lizzie became sort of famous for being one of the anchors of their school news program. One particularly awful (and humiliating) experience in front of the camera had scarred Charlotte forever against being on camera by herself.

Ricky had played the trumpet for the school band, and she'd been a cellist in Orchestra. They had some common interests, mostly in technology. They had been friendly in a behind-the-scenes kind of way mostly because she knew what Lizzie would say and... Charlotte didn't want to admit she saw something in him, but a part of her had always felt bad for him. She saw a sad kernel of loneliness in him.

And maybe a part of her had always had a little soft spot for him. Maybe a part of her had inexplicably... It wasn't much of a story, not really, certainly not anything cinematic. She'd lived a part of her life on camera for the past year, but there was a reason Lizzie's name was on the channel and not hers. There were many reasons, the main one being that Charlotte did not have the kind of life that easily lent itself to the camera. She wasn't photogenic or more than averagely pretty; she was pragmatic rather than dramatic, and she was positive she couldn't hold a viewer's interest talking about her own life.

The Bennets, though, all lived camera-worthy lives: spectacular, ridiculous, beautifully-choreographed lives. Jane was kindness itself, beauty and grace, a real-life Disney Princess or as close as anyone she knew came to being royalty. Lizzie was brilliant, always the smartest person in the room, always knowing the right word to say or the right joke to make, snarky and compelling and so, so confident, fearless even. Lydia was fun and devious and sexy and energetic, adventurous; she knew how to get what she wanted. Everything came easy for them. People were drawn to them. Opportunities fell into their laps. Handsome men even fell at their feet.

Though Charlotte had wished most of her life that she could live the sort of life she would see on-screen, that she could be the sort of heroine she saw in films, even her kind of films, she knew that her life would never be a movie. How did the opening to Northanger Abbey go? "No one who had ever seen her in her infancy would've supposed her to have been born a heroine?" No, Charlotte wasn't the actress; she was the director, the cinematographer... but, more than that, the editor. Her life was made of the stuff that hit the cutting room floor.

In real life, the whole story is a lot less like a John Hughes movie.

Ricky wasn't her date, but she'd danced with him at Prom, and she supposed that said everything. Especially since she'd spent the majority of her time awkwardly dancing with her just-a-friend-date _wishing_ she was dancing with Ricky instead. She told herself it was because at least she and Ricky would have things to talk about, at least she'd never have to worry about the unending silence with him.

That was true, but that wasn't why she wanted to dance with him, and it wasn't because her prom date was even more socially awkward than Ricky, if that was possible (though he was). Part of it was because she'd spent so much time wondering what that could be like, what it would be like if someone liked-her-liked-her. What it would be like to be that close.

It had been a slow song, a longer one. Her date had gone to sit down or get a drink or something. Ricky's date, some tramp he'd asked surprisingly last minute who only went with him to spite her ex-boyfriend, had stranded him on the dance floor, and he was awkwardly hovering on its fringes. Not like that was new. To absolutely no one's surprise, Ricky's date and her sort-of ex were most likely making out in one of the bathrooms. He didn't seem to care much about her absence, though, and he merely stared balefully out at everyone else dancing.

She'd walked over to him before she could talk herself out of it. They engaged in some predictably uncomfortable small-talk before Charlotte mustered up the courage to ask him to dance quietly. Ricky blinked as if she'd spoken an alien language, misunderstanding her. He sputtered out something that sounded an awful lot like rejection, and Charlotte blinked furiously, nodding hastily, and already turning to leave. But then something flickered across his face, something a lot like pity, and he grabbed her arm and stopped her. "Would you like to dance, Charlotte?" he asked in a voice that cracked mid-sentence, jerking his head towards the dance floor.

She nodded because she couldn't manage words. She felt a wide, idiotic smile spread across her face, but she was barely conscious of it.

She took his hand, blinking back what would've been tears, suddenly feeling almost dizzy with relief or whatever the opposite of mortification and humiliation was. Ricky put one hand on her shoulder (the covered part, of course) and then hesitated, his other hand hovering near her waist. Even then he didn't dare to touch her. She'd fought the urge to roll her eyes and reached out, firmly planting his hand on her waist, molding his fingers over her hipbone. He'd looked down immediately and sucked in a breath sharply before looking away. She put her hands on his shoulders, lightly at first, but then her grip gradually firmed up as she grew more comfortable in his presence.

He wasn't looking at her, was very determinedly not doing so; it was really no wonder why people thought he was somewhere on the autism spectrum sometimes. It frustrated Charlotte a bit, but her insides were kind of shaky, and she couldn't remember ever being this close to him before. They were still too far apart, though, so far that another person could fit between them, and Charlotte sought to remedy that by moving closer. She did it gradually, step by step as they swayed together, until her arms were draped around his neck, her fingers locked together at his nape.

She'd reached up, removing his hand from her shoulder and dropping it to her waist so that he'd be forced to wrap his arms low around her waist. There were just a few inches between them. She could practically feel Ricky vibrating from his nerves, but she didn't move away. She just stared up into his eyes as best she could, and then she managed to look away. She wanted the sort of cinematic moment she didn't have then, thought she deserved it.

Instead, though, Charlotte rested her cheek on his. She felt the faint scrape of his stubble against her cheek and leaned into his cheek and his jaw, letting her face slide down until it fit perfectly between head, neck, and shoulder. He stiffened at first, froze and almost stumbled in his steps. And then she closed her eyes and snuggled into him, absorbing what she could from the moment: the way his tux felt under her cheek, the way he smelled, how warm he was. His arms tightened around her waist, but she could still feel how tense he was underneath.

It was nice, though, really, really nice while it lasted.

It lasted about a minute or a minute and a half like that before the song came to an end, and Ricky slowly drew back. Maybe she was a bit too loathe to let him go, but he wasn't exactly in a hurry either. He was flushed, as was she. He was kind of wound up, nervously tapping his fingers on the sides of his suit jacket, practically vibrating. He could barely look at her, but he managed a smile and thanked her for the dance. And then he all but ran off the dance floor, leaving Charlotte standing there, staring after him, watching him go. She was a little disappointed, but it was still easily the highlight of Charlotte's prom.

So you see, Charlotte was no stranger to wanting more... from life, from Ricky.

Then he looked away, his fingers curling and grasping for something in the air, something that wasn't there. Ricky cleared his throat loudly, anxiously, not unlike a rooster crowing. "I... wouldn't want to suggest a familiarity that isn't there and... make the work environment needlessly uncomfortable or awkward in any way," he added a moment later, talking faster than usual. He said it so fast that some of the words started to run together. His darting eyes met her gaze hesitantly, afraid to linger.

She reached out and patted Ricky on the hand. "We've known each other since we were seven, Ricky, and we work closely together." She almost winced because she sounded a bit too much like Lizzie. "I think it's perfectly acceptable to call me by my first name. Normal even. You're not overstepping," Charlotte assured him. She was _really_ resisting the urge to point out that calling her by her first name was not tantamount to sexual harassment. She was sure Catherine had given him that mistaken impression somehow. Any informality was inappropriate to her. Then again, though, maybe it was just Ricky's lack of understanding of social interaction.

At that moment, Charlotte looked down and noticed, for the first time, that she was absently rubbing his hand. Her thumb was rubbing circles on the back of his hand, the rest of her fingers passing over his knuckles. When she saw, she stopped moving her hand and just stared at her hand covering his, feeling somewhat mortified. His skin was smoother than she remembered, though Charlotte had only touched his hand when shaking his hand or passing him things, by accident. Ricky stared at her and then down at her hand with wide, disbelieving eyes, as if he were seeing it for the first time.

He coughed but made no move to withdraw his hand. "I... wouldn't want to presume," he said cautiously. Her hand remained on top of Ricky's even though she could've taken it away. She probably should've, but there was this little voice in the back of her head brought on by the alcohol that said she'd had enough. She'd had enough of keeping her mouth shut and swallowing down her feelings and pretending she was fine with the status quo—with nothing ever happening in her life. And tonight, she was finally going to be brave and do something about it so that she wouldn't have to wonder and think about what-ifs anymore.

The gin prevented her from realizing what she was really about to attempt to do, much less thinking about it.

Even Charlotte had noticed that Ricky was breathing a little funny, probably because of the physical contact (or so she would like to think). She leaned in, smirking. "You're not _presuming_ anything." Charlotte leaned in further, shifting towards him on her stool. His eyebrows shot up. "You're not my boss anymore, Richard." Her voice was about an octave lower than usual, husky. The name rolled off of her tongue and felt surprisingly natural, though it was maybe the first time she'd said his whole first name in a non-business context.

He started visibly, and something dark flickered in his eyes—arousal perhaps? The thought in conjunction with Ricky's name feels kind of... forbidden. She hasn't allowed herself to think of him that way (not really, anyway) in all these long, stressful months she's been working for him—at least partly because she wants to strangle Ricky a minimum of five times a day usually, but that didn't mean she didn't want to. It was probably just wishful thinking or some ridiculous sort of fondness brought on by familiarity and proximity and Ricky being one thing she could really count on when she'd needed it. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe she'd been thinking about it for a long time, and it had really started to gnaw on her these past months at his side.

Charlotte smiled enigmatically, moving closer still, on edge of her seat. She didn't realize it at the time, but that was the moment when she really decided to commit to it. Her hand made its way to the inside of his wrist, the ends of her fingers just edging under his sleeve. "We're partners, equals now," she told him, looking him in the eye. She brushed her fingers across his bare skin, idly tracing his veins. He shuddered minutely every time her fingers passed over it, his eyes sliding closed for just a second before he opened them again, wide, to stare at her, speechless. She was probably enjoying this just a little too much. "I think you can call me Charlotte, don't you?" she murmured, fingers toying with the button on the side of his sleeve.

She could've sworn he leaned in just a little; either way he was all she could see. They were shoulder-to-shoulder. He reached up and loosened his tie reflexively, looking distinctly uncomfortable. She couldn't stop herself from giggling just a little. He reached up again to straighten his hair, averting his gaze. He swallowed hard, a few too many times, and he tried to look away and master himself. None of it worked. Her hand was, after all, still on his wrist.

He kept shifting on his stool, nearly jumping whenever a part of his body accidentally touched hers. His shin touched her calf, then his foot tapped hers when searching for the rung to rest on. Then his knee touched her thigh before sliding down to brush against her knee for a moment or too longer. She looked down and saw that his other hand was busy compulsively buttoning and unbuttoning his jacket, his fingers working furiously. It took her a while, but she remembered what it reminded her of—his reaction to Lydia.

She wondered, not for the first time, if this reaction was indicative of arousal, general discomfort, or that he was uncomfortable with physical contact because... he was gay or asexual or had some sort of other issue (or, maybe, she thought bitterly, it was just _her_ he had the problem with). So she knew what Ricky was going to do before he turned away and jumped up from his seat abruptly. She gritted her teeth before slowly turning around to face him. Ricky cleared his throat forcibly. "I have something for you, Miss-" He trailed off upon catching sight of Charlotte's murderous expression. It was as if he hadn't heard a word she'd said just now.

Ricky looked down, pressing his lips together, and gave her an apologetic look. It was hardly enough, but it was all the acknowledgment she was going to get. Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest, deciding to humor him. He kind of whirled around, reaching into his jacket pocket for something. More intrigued than she was willing to admit, Charlotte watched as he pulled a slightly crumpled reddish-pink gift bag from his pocket. She was even more astonished when he took a step forward and offered it to her.

She blinked, looking from the bag to his hopeful and encouraging expression, and then reached into the bag. She fished through the tissue paper until she felt something smooth—wrapping paper around something square and heavy. Charlotte took the present out of the bag, setting the bag in her lap as she began to unwrap the gift. It was a silver picture frame, an antique judging by its patina and the elaborate flowers and vines that were engraved onto its surface. He'd taken the liberty of putting a photo in it, one Charlotte had never seen before.

She didn't even remember the photo being taken, which had to mean that Ricky had taken it on the sly like a creeper. It left her with many questions she was too confused and unsettled to answer.

The picture was of her and Lizzie at her desk, in front of her computer, editing the Diaries together. It had been shortly after Lizzie had come to visit, when they were still getting back into the swing of things. Charlotte didn't need to squint to see what the frame had frozen on—Lizzie in her Catherine de Bourgh glasses, mid-impression, complete with the Anniekins stuffed animal she'd found at the Goodwill. It was, if memory served, one of Lizzie's many cut Catherine de Bourgh impressions.

They were both in three-quarter-profile, laughing, heads thrown back in matching expressions of pure happiness. It was a perfect moment, and Ricky had captured it.

Charlotte tore her eyes away from the picture frame to look up at him. She didn't know what to say or how to thank him, so she just stared at him, speechless. Ricky bit his lip and naturally took this as an invitation to start babbling. "I didn't know exactly what you would like, but I know how fond you are of Miss Bennet. I thought that would go with the general decor of your apartment or your new office... You're looking for a one-bedroom soon, aren't you?" Charlotte nodded dumbly, tracing one of the edges of the flowers with her thumb. One that was in her price range, at any rate; her new position had come with a salary increase, and she'd saved up some.

As for her new office, well, she hadn't really gotten used to it. She still hadn't moved all her things in, so it was mostly empty and abandoned-feeling. She'd been in it a few times since the power handover, but she still didn't feel comfortable in there. Just walking in brought up a familiar feeling of anxiety and stress. She kept expecting to see Ricky there, sitting behind the ridiculously large and ornate glass desk (a present from Ms. de Bourgh which was so imposing that it just made him look even smaller than he was). Was it really any surprise that she could barely bring herself to go in? She had a feeling like even when she finally put her belongings in there and made it her own, it still wouldn't be hers—it would always be Ricky's office to her.

Ricky cleared his throat almost timidly. "If you don't like it, I can get you something else." When she said nothing, still trying to wrap her mind around how Ricky had gotten her such a thoughtful gift, he started speaking again. "There's, um... There's also a card in the bag, if you want to look at it." She glanced up, somewhat startled, meeting his gaze for a moment. He started backpedaling. "Not that you have to, of course, if you don't wish to. It's not like there's anything else in there... though I should have..." He frowned. "It's not quite a birthday card, either... I wanted to get one, but I found that most of the birthday cards expressed sentiments that were... inappropriate or... indecent, really... not befitting of our relationship." Charlotte tried and failed not to smile, reaching back into the bag until she found the envelope he'd mentioned.

She turned the card over in her hands and looked back up at Ricky, who suddenly looked even more nervous. He was back to buttoning and unbuttoning his blazer. Charlotte frowned slightly but opened the envelope, carefully pulling the card out and turning it over. It had a pattern of leaves around the edges, transitioning from red and orange to green. Then there was the writing, which she scanned.

_Sometimes I wonder if you'll ever know what a difference you've made in my life. I guess I could have made it on my own if I'd never met you, but it would've been like stumbling through the night, never really knowing where I was headed or which way to turn. But then you came along... You brought light to my path and gave me confidence._

She honestly didn't even need to read what was inside the card, because she already felt a little like she was going to cry, but she opened the card anyway. She did it because she was afraid of what she'd do if she looked up at Ricky right now.

_You helped me to believe in myself. No one has ever given me a greater gift._

Beneath that, there was something in his own neat handwriting, carefully printed, as if he'd struggled with what to say, agonized over every word and phrase.

He had, but she didn't know that.

She merely read on.

_Charlotte,_

_I wish I knew what to say to you. I've looked at hundreds of cards, but none of them properly or fully express what I feel and what I wish for you. This card came the closest. No mere word seems apt enough—not appreciation, not thankfulness, not gratitude. You've given me so much, and I wish I could give you even half as much as you've given me._

_I'll stop before I am run away with my feelings and take up all of the space on the rest of the card, but let me first just say that you have made my days so much brighter and more complete. I have looked forward to work so much more because I knew you would be there, waiting for me. It's been an unspeakable pleasure to work with you these past seven months. Thank you for being my friend and companion, for supporting me and guiding me, and helping me to be better. Thank you for being there when I needed someone and for being so much more than I expected. I cannot say it enough, Charlotte Catherine Lu; thank you for being you._

_Yours,_

_Rick_

After that, Charlotte was actually choked up, blinking back tears, and there was really only one thing she could do. For a moment she just stared at the card, unable to believe he'd written something so... sentimental, so revealing, so... perfect. Then she found herself again and set both card and frame down at the bar. She stood abruptly, and the bag fell to the floor, but she took no notice of it because she'd thrown her arms around Ricky. He was caught off-guard somewhat, unprepared for her throwing herself at him, and he rocked back a bit, but he returned the hug soon enough. He didn't embrace her quite as hard as she was currently hugging him, though.

She buried her face in his neck, feeling the scrape of his beard against her cheek. She was mumbling things into his shoulder, things that probably weren't quite intelligible since she'd also begun crying a little. She didn't know what she was saying, just whatever was on her mind (probably just "thank you" over and over again), and she hoped it wasn't half as ridiculous as some of the things she was thinking. He was still stiff in her arms, though he'd begun patting her back, trying to make it better. After a few moments of this, he pulled away from her, his hands still on her shoulders.

She missed the proximity almost immediately but wiped her eyes. She didn't want Ricky to have questions about that, even though he'd surely felt the tears on his skin or seeping through his jacket. She smoothed her hands down his lapels distractedly. Ricky was saying something long and rambling, something apologetic and probably retreating all the same, but Charlotte couldn't hear a single word distinctly over the familiar buzz of his voice. She was really doing all she could to prevent herself from kissing him.

But then he was backing even further away and gesticulating rapidly, talking a mile a minute. And once again, something in her kind of twisted and snapped. Charlotte rolled her eyes, finally losing her patience with him. "Shut up, Ricky," she said, stumbling towards him. She straightened a bit, surprised at how good that felt. She'd kind of wanted to tell him to shut up since August. "You're ruining it."

He blinked, taken aback, and fell silent for a few moments. He slumped a little, looking hurt, and Charlotte felt that familiar pang of guilt. The light in his eyes had dimmed, and she felt responsible. It took him maybe a few seconds longer to get over it than usual. Then he licked his lips and opened his mouth, already launching into the apology she should've anticipated. "I'm sorry if I said something wrong. I didn't mean to offend-"

Sometimes she wondered how he was able to cram so many words into a sentence. Was it some sort of Dickensian ability he possessed? In fact, how did he speak without perpetually running out of breath? Charlotte surprised even herself by putting a finger to his lips, effectively silencing him. "I _said_ shut up, Ricky," she repeated. How many times did she have to tell him? She thought it would leave him speechless for a while, and she wasn't wrong, but she didn't think he would actually start talking again while her finger was still on his lips. He looked down at her finger, eyes wide, and then back up at her face. He frowned in mild consternation and then opened his mouth and launched right into his speech, his words somewhat muffled by her finger.

"And I heard you, Miss Lu, I was merely wondering what you meant by it. If you have a problem with anything I'm saying, you can certainly go into more depth than that and explain yourself... I don't want you to think that we have the kind of relationship where you can't discuss any problems or issues you have with me so that we can resolve them... I'm afraid I don't fully understand. What exactly is it that you want me to say?"

So many things, Ricky, she thought to herself a touch bittersweetly. Nothing.

For a moment she just stared at him, incredulous. Sometimes she wondered if he was a robot or some sort of actor since he just kept talking even when one didn't respond. Then something inside of Charlotte well and truly broke when she heard him call her "Miss Lu" for the nth time, and she took leave of her senses. She slid her hands back up his chest and across his shoulders. She lifted her heels off of the ground, stretching up towards him, and pressed her lips against his. He was predictably stiff and unresponsive, numb with shock. The one-sided kiss lasted about fifteen seconds, but they were fifteen blissfully silent seconds before Ricky managed to pull away. He was blinking rapidly, as if he'd just woken up from a dream. His brow furrowed in confusion. "Miss Lu, what are you-"

Charlotte clenched her jaw and moved closer, determined to cut him off. She fisted his lapels, pulling him back down to her rather forcibly. Her weight rocked back on her feet; her heels touched the floor again. Before he knew what to make of it, she was kissing him again. His lips were at least pursed this time, but they didn't yield under hers. They were, however, as soft as she remembered. She put a little more into it this time, bringing their bodies into as much contact as she could manage. Ricky was still astonished (_floored_, really) but managed to pull away again, looking bewildered and flushed and completely adorable. He looked around the room as if disoriented (or if he was checking to see how many people had seen that). "Miss Lu, this is most-" He was even using his stern, disappointed voice, and _why_ did she think that was hot?

She sighed raggedly, irritated and just wishing he could let her have the damn moment. That he could let her have something. He said he wished he could give her even half as much as she'd given him, so why couldn't he just let her have this? And she knew what he was going to say, if he wasn't already, that it was inappropriate and highly irregular and frowned upon and we have a no-fraternization policy, Miss Lu, like it even mattered. The mere thought, let alone imagining his voice saying it, was galling enough to stir her into further action.

There was a thought in the back of her (oxygen-deprived) mind that she was going to have to keep kissing him until he stopped calling her Miss Lu and started calling her Charlotte. "Your thesaurus won't help you now," she muttered breathlessly. Then she slid her hands around to the back of his neck, pulled him into her, and kissed him again, more deeply this time. His beard tickled her upper lip. Then, after a moment, she felt it: his lips pressing against hers, kissing her back. It was like the first time, back at Christmas, but not. His lips weren't quite so timid, so barely there. Her fingers came up to toy with the hair at the base of his neck and tangle in the curly ends. His hair was as soft as she'd imagined, and, God, she'd wanted to do this for _months_.

This time, she was the one to pull away, gulping in breaths of air and smiling like an idiot. He'd kissed her back, and her hands were still all over him. She looked down and half-heartedly smoothed his wrinkled lapels. "Miss Lu, why-" he mumbled, breathless and reeling. And there it was again. Though she'd hardly regained her breath, Charlotte put her hands on either side of his neck and dragged his head down to hers, crushing her mouth against his. She pressed herself against him, angling her hips into his more than she would've dared to earlier, when he hadn't been reciprocating. His mouth was more or less open, so she found her tongue tracing his teeth and the inside of his mouth within moments. He tasted like cherries and grenadine, which was strangely fitting. She wrapped an arm around his neck, firming up her grip, and standing up on her toes to meet him. Her other hand buried itself in his hair.

Even more strange than the fact that she was currently making out with Ricky Collins, her longtime childhood crush and former boss, was the fact that Ricky was not acting as if he was made of stone. Ricky had finally started to relax, making a small sound in the back of his throat that was somewhere between a groan and a grunt. He surprised Charlotte by reaching down to put a hand on her hip, lightly, and leaning into her. Also, unlike the other three times she'd kissed him this evening, this time he actually closed his eyes. Somehow his hand made its way under the fabric of her shirt, which had either ridden up or come untucked, and then his fingers were brushing against the bare skin at her hip. She started at the touch and froze a little, but then his other hand found the flat of her back, and she no longer cared about anything else in the world but getting closer.

"Get a room!" someone shouted at them, bringing them back down to earth. Flushed and embarrassed, they broke apart reluctantly. Charlotte was about one hundred percent positive that it was that smart-ass bartender who'd ruined the moment, and she turned around, ready to give him a piece of her mind, when Ricky's thumb circling her hipbone made her pause. She relaxed her grip on him and his neck, once again smoothing the wrinkled fabric of his lapels in a way that almost made Ricky jump. She felt dizzy, almost lightheaded and giddy, though whether it was from the alcohol or the lack of oxygen in her brain was anyone's guest. She could feel him rocking back and forward on the balls of his feet and wanted to still his perpetual motion. Charlotte ran her fingers over his collar, straightening it. Then she reached up to straighten and play with his tie, enjoying the feel of the silk under her hands.

Ricky swallowed, clearing his throat almost painfully forcibly, trying to regain some of his former poise. He found it predictably impossible, since Charlotte still had her hands on his tie. To make it even more difficult for him, she was idly drawing a line down his chest with her index finger, and he was all too aware of how thin his shirt was. She raised her eyebrows as if daring him to say something. He stammered something unintelligible, and Charlotte smiled lazily, leaning in towards his ear. "You have _no_ idea how long I've wanted to do that," she whispered, so close she could kiss his neck. Somehow she managed to pull back far enough to get a good look at the somewhat shell-shocked look on his face.

She was unsure what to make of Ricky's reaction, but she was relieved he wasn't freaking out as she'd expected. He hadn't run away from her screaming, after all, so that was a good sign, right? In fact, he was staring straight at her as if he were unable to take his eyes off of her, still a bit too close for it to be professional. Then he reached out and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, pushing the hair carefully over her shoulder. His fingertips skimmed her cheek, and Charlotte leaned into the touch. After a while, he swallowed again, thickly, finding his voice. "If it's anywhere near as long as I've wanted to, then you have my utmost sympathy," he replied, looking somewhat dazed as he reached up to touch his lips. He still couldn't believe it, apparently. Charlotte let out a laugh unexpectedly and tugged him towards their seats. She couldn't help but wonder how long Ricky had wanted to kiss her; how much time had they wasted?

Charlotte fanned herself and leaned forward to take a sip of her water, carefully picking up the picture frame and the card. Ricky bent down to pick up the bag and handed it to her before reoccupying his seat. He drank thirstily from their shared drink as she put the present and card back in the bag. As she sneaked glances at him, she noticed that he seemed to be working up nerve, to be coming to some sort of resolve the way most men would after having some decidedly-more-alcoholic liquid courage.

She perked up a little, expecting some sort of declaration. She was, however, to be disappointed (not that that was as much of a surprise as it ought to have been), as Mr. Collins merely finished his drink, methodically downing the leftover cherries one after the other. He then proceeded to turn to her and say, "We should probably be returning to the rest of the group. It's getting rather late, and we wouldn't want them to leave without saying goodbye." She nodded and rose to her feet, barely suppressing a groan and wondering why she'd expected anything more. He had used "we," though. Did that mean something, or did she just want it to? He took her wrist, knocking her off-balance a little, and she followed him dutifully through the crowd back to their party.

Judging by the laughter and smiles on their faces, Lydia was (predictably) telling embarrassing stories about Lizzie. Lydia froze and made a face immediately upon seeing Ricky, though it was tempered somewhat when Charlotte popped out from behind him. Lizzie and then Darcy fell silent and looked up at them, looking none-too-amused, though evidently at least somewhat glad to see her. Lizzie reached down and handed Charlotte her purse, which she draped around herself. Ricky dropped her wrist before anyone could notice, much less comment on it. Charlotte rubbed her wrist gingerly, feeling rather bereft.

As always, Mr. Collins spoke before anyone else could. "Well, Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet, and Miss Young Bennet..." he began, gesturing to each of them in turn, "As usual, it was a pleasure seeing all of you and getting to catch up with you." Charlotte clenched her jaw, once again noting her exclusion from acknowledgment. Lydia and Lizzie exchanged a look and both perked up a bit, no doubt sensing the impending announcement that Mr. Collins would be leaving. "I am, however, afraid that I must depart. As unfortunate as it is," he continued pompously. She could've sworn he threw a look at her as he said that part of the phrase, though Charlotte had no idea what that could possibly signify. "I have a flight to catch, so I must bid you all au revoir, as they say in my new northerly home."

Charlotte (and Darcy, she noted) actually cringed at his abysmal French accent, though she mused that at least he was using the proper form of goodbye this time. She couldn't deny, though, that something in her had kind of sank when she'd found out he was leaving. Even though it shouldn't, and of course he shouldn't even be here, and she'd gone much longer without seeing him recently. It was a bittersweet feeling because she still remembered the days when she'd looked forward to nothing more than him leaving, to no longer having to put up with him anymore and being her own boss. But now, well, it was like she was living Two Weeks Notice.

Charlotte knew she had no right, but she'd kind of thought he would stay longer, that she might get a bit more time. She'd probably been wrong about what happened earlier, maybe it didn't mean... whatever she'd thought it meant. Maybe it was even the reason why he was leaving so early. He'd probably been trying to let her down easy. She tried her best to smile, though, and not let the bitter disappointment show through. She was having more trouble concentrating on the too-stilted conversation than she would like.

Everyone at the table exchanged less-than-enthusiastic goodbyes (though Lydia's glee that he was leaving was actually very real) and vague promises to meet up again or call him when in Canada. Darcy got out of it with a too-eager handshake. Lydia got an awkward wave gesture; apparently Ricky was still too uncomfortable to go near her. Lydia saluted him in return, smirking. She at least waited until his back was turned to roll her eyes. Lizzie suppressed a sigh but got up and reluctantly hugged Ricky. She really did like him as a person more than she was willing to admit. Charlotte noted Darcy's clear irritation with some amusement.

Before, she might've been jealous herself, but she had made out with him earlier... which meant _something_, not that she was exactly sure what that something was. Lizzie and Ricky broke apart, and Lizzie reached down to grab Darcy's hand and pull him up. "You know, Will, I was thinking that we should probably get going too. It's getting late," Lizzie remarked somewhat pointedly. Lydia gagged, and Lizzie threw her a dark look that faded to a smile after a few moments. Charlotte found herself wishing she could get the moment on camera, and it struck her that there would be lots of moments like that—moments that might've been on camera before but now wouldn't be.

Darcy smiled and agreed in his stuffy way, and then the two of them just stared at each other, making everyone in the vicinity feel out of place. Ricky was the one who coughed and interrupted the moment. "I..." He hesitated as Lizzie and Darcy, both annoyed, turned to look at him.

Charlotte stepped up to salvage the moment, mostly because she wanted to escape from this moment more than just about anyone. "You know, Lizzie's right. It is late, and I'm sure we've all got a lot of things to do tomorrow. We should all head out." Everyone nodded, and Charlotte cast a furtive glance back over her shoulder at Ricky.

What she was thinking was probably stupid and a bad idea, and doing it in public was even dumber, but she couldn't just let Ricky leave without saying a proper goodbye. She needed to clear the air at the very least. "How about I drive you to the airport, Ricky?" she volunteered, turning to face him. Ricky blinked, speechless, and Charlotte wondered if she'd maybe made a mistake, if he was really that desperate to avoid her company. She felt a little pathetic, really, doing anything to spend more time with him.

Instead, Ricky came closer to her, looking particularly concerned. "Miss Lu, you've been drinking," he said in a hushed voice, touching her elbow. Charlotte looked down, feeling somewhat ashamed and chastised. She hadn't forgotten that she'd been drinking, exactly, but Ricky reminding her and looking at her like that and calling her "Miss Lu" again made it clear that she hadn't exactly thought it through either. He pushed up her sleeve slightly, and Charlotte tried to keep her breathing steady. "Thank you very much for the offer, but I think I should be the one driving you home first," he said with a smile. Charlotte smiled back and was about to agree to that when Lizzie asked what they were talking about. It was not unlike the way Catherine de Bourgh raised her voice to ask young people what they were saying in their private conversations when she couldn't eavesdrop.

Ricky took a step back and removed his hand from her elbow before anyone could see or comment. She deflated more than she probably should at the ripe age of twenty-five. "Oh," Ricky said, looking a bit guilty, "I was just reminding Miss Lu that she shouldn't drive herself because I bought her a drink earlier." Charlotte gave Ricky an incredulous look, since he'd bought her a Shirley Temple, most of which he'd downed himself. Apparently her drinking had not escaped his notice.

Lizzie immediately said that Darcy could drive her, but Ricky spoke before Charlotte could comment either way. "I'll take Charlotte." Charlotte's eyebrows shot up in astonishment; she couldn't decide what surprised her more, him calling her by her first name (much less in front of people) or what he'd said. The way he'd said it made Charlotte think that he'd probably planned this out; it would explain why he hadn't said goodbye, after all.

Lydia's eyes widened. Lizzie opened her mouth as if to argue with this, wanting to rescue Charlotte the same way she'd "rescued" them earlier, but Lydia interrupted her. "You _really_ want to, don't you?" she asked, looking at him askance, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She looked very much like she was going to break out into hysterical laughter. Charlotte couldn't bring herself to look at Lizzie and Darcy's reactions to this, but she did see Ricky turning nearly the same color as his tie. She was sure her own face was flushed, after all, despite her best efforts.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, not unlike a fish. "Home," he stammered after a while. Charlotte placed a hand on the side of her face, wondering if this moment could _get_ any more embarrassing. Lydia gave Ricky a look. "I can take her _home_," he repeated dumbly. The slightly-skeptical-slash-amused look on Lydia's face did not go away, though she did burst into a fit of loud gleeful laughter. Ricky cringed and threw a pleading expression Charlotte's way, but she was enjoying this a bit too much to help him in any way. So he began backpedaling. "Her family's apartment is on my way to the airport," he managed about as sensibly as he could, gesturing towards the door. He was actually telling the truth; her apartment was closer to the city.

Charlotte bit the inside of her cheek and looked over at Lizzie and Darcy, who very obviously wanted to be alone. Ricky cleared his throat loudly, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Oh, and I can also obviously drive the young Miss Bennet back home too," he offered, twiddling his thumbs. "If you two would prefer to be alone," he added a moment later. Apparently those were magic words, since Lizzie and Darcy tore their eyes away from each other to address him.

Lydia made a face, as did Charlotte, though for entirely different reasons. Lydia's expression was because she would rather watch paint dry than voluntarily spend time around Ricky Collins to help her lovelife. Charlotte's was because she wanted to be alone with Ricky and was wondering why he was shooting himself in the foot. And maybe because she was a little concerned that he actually wanted to be in a confined space with Lydia. Upon catching sight of Charlotte's expression, however, Lydia's grimace was replaced with a smirk.

She sauntered up to Ricky, putting a hand on his shoulder. Her unnatural grin widened a little when she saw how he literally jumped when she touched him, as if he were violently uncomfortable with the mere idea of her presence. "No, no, Ricky, that won't be necessary," Lydia drawled, flipping her hair. Charlotte recognized that particular tone of voice as her scheming tone. It said something about how on edge Ricky was that he didn't even attempt to correct her. Lydia patted his shoulder. "It's out of your way, and I wouldn't want to make you late for your flight," she continued in a super saccharine tone, batting her eyelashes at him. "Lizzie and her Bore-friend can totes take me back home, right?" Lydia asked, motioning to them.

Lizzie opened her mouth to protest the offensive epithet about her boyfriend, but Lydia threw an arm around her shoulders before she could get a word out and looked up at Darcy. "After all, Darce, you are taking Lizzie back to our home tonight, aren't you?" she asked in a similarly syrupy tone. Lizzie threw her a look that bordered on murderous as a somewhat pink Darcy muttered an affirmative. Lydia clapped in excitement. "There's nothing like the feeling of the wind in my hair! Whoo!" Lydia was almost her annoying, perky self again. She pointed at Ricky, grinning. "You take her home, Rickster." The innuendo in Lydia's voice was unmistakable, as was the wink she directed towards them.

Charlotte really hoped Lizzie didn't see, but Ricky looked near apoplectic with mortification. It was soon after agreed that Lizzie and Darcy would take Lydia home, and she exchanged goodbyes with the three of them. When Lydia hugged her (too tight as always), she gave Charlotte a knowing look. "Come on. You can't BS a BSer. You're so hot for him!" Lydia whispered. Charlotte felt herself flush down to her toes, and she couldn't blame that on the alcohol. She could hope that Ricky hadn't heard, but Lydia's "whisper" was more of a stage whisper. Lydia shrugged. "It's honestly a little bit disgusting because he's kind of a weirdo, but I guess someone had to be."

Charlotte opened her mouth to deny that, but Lydia shook her head. "Before you try to deny it, I totes saw you two going at it in the corner, and ewww." Lydia made a face, and Charlotte felt her cheeks burn. Lydia tilted her head to the side, the grimace fading away to be replaced by a more thoughtful expression. "On the other hand, though, as sickening and wrong as it is, you're finally getting some. So yay, Charlotte, you found your lovelife!" She patted Charlotte on the shoulder in a congratulatory way before hugging her again so hard that she couldn't breathe for a moment. Then Lydia broke away from her and flounced off after Darcy and Lizzie before Charlotte could say a single word.

Leaving Charlotte and Ricky standing there very much alone, by the door. Ricky snapped to opening the door for her, and she left the bar with him following. She almost froze when he put his hand on her lower back, guiding her, and looked up to see Lizzie watching and wearing an expression that said she clearly expected an explanation later. In a way, she wished she could keep whatever was going on between her and Ricky from Lizzie a bit longer, at least until she _knew_ what was going on between her and Ricky, but she should've known better. Her bestie was just too observant.

When she thought about it enough, she could see all the red flags: her and Ricky suddenly being on a first name basis, him buying her a drink, the physical contact, the both of them offering to give each other a ride home, the blushing... and all that was assuming that Lizzie had been too wrapped up in Darcy to look around and see them.

She followed Ricky to his rental, casting a baleful look at her own car. His hand stayed on her back the whole time, even as he opened the car door for her. Charlotte got into his rental, a typically practical Toyota. After a moment, Ricky got in the car too. For a long moment they just sat there, staring ahead, neither of them saying a word. "So..." Charlotte put her hands in her lap, glancing over at him. It had gotten pretty dark, but Ricky wasn't making any moves to start the car.

"So..." Charlotte repeated, exhaling. She shifted on the leather, adjusting her shirt, which had ridden up a little in the back. She wondered if Lizzie had noticed that too.

Then Ricky cleared his throat, and suddenly the entire moment stretched taut like a knot. Her stomach was also in knots, just a little bit. He prolonged the throat-clearing and then spoke, "Miss Lu-"

There was that irrational burst of frustration and anger that had her turning abruptly to face him, leaning across the center console. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "_Please_, Ricky!" she pleaded, bringing her hands up to grab his arms and squeeze. She looked him in the eyes. "If you say "Miss Lu" one more time, I'm going to scream!" She was shaking a little as she said it, but it only reinforced the point of her words.

He looked somewhat taken aback, his eyes wide, but he nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, Mi-" He gave her an apologetic look. "I'm afraid it's become a force of habit," he said a bit sheepishly, smoothing the back of his hair. He tapped his fingers on his knees and took a big breath. "Okay... Charlotte..." he said, testing it out. She smiled and relaxed into the seat, running a hand through her hair self-consciously. It was something Caroline Lee might've done, and Charlotte hated few comparisons (particularly as Catherine was especially fond of praising her protégée to Charlotte's detriment). Ricky smiled back faintly, encouraged, and went on, "I'm afraid I may have given you the wrong impression about something."

Her heart shot up into her throat, beating faster and faster. He was gnawing on the corner of his lip like a nervous rabbit, and Charlotte drew her gaze away fast so she wouldn't get distracted. Her mouth had been there too, earlier, though it seemed almost surreal to her now. I'll say, Charlotte thought, staring up at the ceiling and playing with the ends of her hair. "About what?" she asked carefully, already drawing away and retreating into her thoughts. She made sure she sounded lighter, more vague than usual, like this would just roll right off of her back. But she wasn't sure how much longer she could feign nonchalance.

Realistically, she knew she needed to have some kind of conversation with him, but she didn't know what he was going to say. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear it, to be honest, but it was time. Losing the potential of something there was one thing, but finally knowing would be a relief. She stared out the window at the parking lot dimly, glad they weren't moving. She needed a potential escape route and solid ground under her feet for this.

"I'm not actually going back to Canada tonight."

Charlotte turned abruptly to face him, genuinely confused. "Then why did you say you were? It's not like you to be dishonest." He flinched at the word and looked away, shuttering his eyes and looking a bit embarrassed. She looked down at the bag in her lap and preoccupied herself by fluffing the tissue paper in it and sneaking a peek at the picture frame.

He cleared his throat loudly in discomfort. He shifted a few too many times, trying to find a more relaxed position, but he remained stiff and mildly constipated-looking. He put his hands in his lap, clasping his fingers together tightly then unclasping them before bringing them back together again. "I was worried about how it might appear if I told our friends that your apartment was on the way to my hotel," he said so quietly Charlotte had to lean in a little to hear it. So he was staying by the airport or in the city, then? "The youngest Miss Bennet certainly seemed to get that idea from what I said," he added after a moment, almost timidly. "I didn't want to embarrass you or expose you to unwanted scrutiny... of that sort."

Charlotte laughed loudly, vaguely incredulous. Was he really saying what she thought he was saying? She didn't think she'd ever seen Ricky more uncomfortable than he was at that particular moment, excepting Lydia's earlier allusions. "You thought they would assume that you were taking me back to your hotel?" she managed to get out between guffaws. It sounded and so hilarious when she said it out loud, like people actually thought she was Ricky's dirty mistress or something, but she saw his point a few seconds after saying it and conceded it. She hadn't really thought much of Lizzie and Darcy's reactions to Lydia's insinuations. She hadn't cared much either, but she did appreciate his consideration for her sake.

If there was actually anything to this, she didn't want everyone to know right away. If that was what it was, what he was doing. Charlotte still wasn't sure that _he_ wasn't ashamed of this, whatever it was. As a supposedly engaged man, he shouldn't find the situation ideal. Ricky nodded slightly, flushing approximately the same color as the famed red-brick facade of Carter's Bar. "Obviously I wouldn't actu-Miss de Bourgh and some of her colleagues certainly would," he remarked in an undertone, letting out a little cough.

He was definitely right about that, and Ricky hadn't even heard half of the things Ms. de Bourgh's colleagues and business partners and lackeys had said to her face or about her. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She'd heard one of Ms. de Bourgh's younger, more crass and ill-mannered associates congratulate Ricky to his face on that "scoring that Dragon Lady of yours." She'd made quite an impression in their many meetings, much to Catherine's displeasure, but because of her brains and no-nonsense personality, not her exoticism or sex appeal.

Said business associates had then proceeded to ask him if he'd "tapped that," to which a rather befuddled Ricky had replied that, yes, obviously he'd tapped Charlotte to be his business partner and blathered on about her being an invaluable member of his leadership team. Another one of those asshole business associates had laughed and elbowed Ricky a bit too hard, waggling his eyebrows. "Bet your ego isn't the only thing she's massaging, am I right?" The effort of being silent and pretending she wasn't able to hear all of the conversation from across the room was getting to her; Charlotte had bit down on her bottom lip so hard she tasted blood.

To Ricky's credit, his expression changed into a sort of frown. He seemed to realize that the businessman was insulting Charlotte, but he either didn't fully get the insinuation or ignored it for face-saving purposes (or some other psychological process was at work). Either way, he paused just a moment too long before speaking. "Well, yes, Miss Lu knows exactly how to work her magic on our clients. She handles every situation with finesse, poise, and dexterity. She has a particular gift for restoring investor confidence in these trying economic times," he said coolly. His phraseology had the unique distinction of being very flattering and also making her want to bury her head in the sand because it also kind of made her sound even more like the masseuse the venture capitalist seemed to think she was.

At least one of them had asked Ricky if he should send Charlotte a LinkedIn invitation because "I'd like to _connect_ with her." And she thought Ricky was bad about using overly evocative business lingo. Demonstrating more sense than she sometimes thought him capable of, Collins suggested linking up with him or that he would pass on her contact information.

Charlotte dropped her gaze demurely, tracing the seam on the side of her jeans. She made a face and nodded in agreement. She placed her hands on the seat, tapping the leather. It was a bit of a balmier night, and the polyester fabric of her blouse was sticking to her skin. The longer the unnatural silence was, the longer the moment seemed to stretch. She licked her lips, a bit anxious. But she had to say something. More depended on his answer than he knew. "So, when _do_ you go back to Winnipeg?"

Ricky glanced over at her, startled by the question. He shrugged far more nonchalantly than he had any right to. Nonchalant was never a word one associated with him; his whole being kind of screamed try-hard (too hard). He waited a moment before responding. "I haven't actually booked my flight back yet," he informed her with a note of uncertainty in his voice.

Charlotte's eyebrows shot up. "Oh?" That didn't sound like him at all. Ricky Collins leaving his fledgling new business for an unforeseen amount of time? Admittedly Charlotte knew very little about his business up there (and apparently Ricky didn't either, judging by his twitter), but he couldn't just leave something half-done or half-begun. He was not a man for half-measures. Except in terms of his company's actual product output or when he was trying to satisfy both Catherine and his father, and the two of them wanted different things (which was almost always). "Don't they need you at the office?" she asked, concerned.

He waved it off, shaking his head as if the whole thing were a trivial matter. He was not a CEO like Darcy who could just jet off around the state and world on whims. If only because Ricky was the kind of person who sought to settle, to put down roots, to sink into his comfort zone like a warm bath. That and Ricky had a _very_ skewed concept of a work-life balance since he thought his company was the most important part of his life. "It's a Canadian bank holiday," he said blandly. The immediacy and brevity more than anything else told her he was lying. She also didn't think the Canadians had any days off work in March. She gave him an unsure look. He looked over at her, smiling slightly. "Besides, my business here is infinitely more important."

Charlotte smiled softly at him, looking down shyly. His hand edged across the console between the seats.

They stayed there for a while in a silence that wasn't quite awkward but not quite comfortable either. Both of them sat there, wanting to say something, anything, but they couldn't bring themselves to say the words. Maybe they were afraid that putting words to it would ruin the moment.

Eventually, Charlotte couldn't take it anymore and started first, "Ricky, I..." She knew what she was going to say next, but she couldn't say it. Once she said it, there was no taking it back, no going back. And she wasn't sure it was the right move, much less at a time when she was so uncertain about things. She'd never been one to take big risks. Her throat was dry, and it just kind of closed up on her, so her hesitation soon turned into wimping out. "...There's something I need to tell you," she said urgently.

Ricky spoke the same time she did. "Charlotte, there's something I've been meaning to ask you..." His eyes widened a bit when he realized what she'd said. He bowed his head slightly, motioning for her to go with a twist of his hand. "Oh, you can-"

Charlotte shook her head abruptly, suddenly very nervous and more than a little nauseous. It was all she could do to keep her hands still in her lap. She smoothed her hands down the front of her thighs, resting her palms on her knees, trying to keep her breathing even. "No, Ricky, you go first," she stressed, trying to smile. She was worried about what he was going to say, but she was even more worried about what she was going to say to him. If she could even get it out. She really hoped she didn't regret letting him going first.

He nodded, licked his lips, and took a steadying breath. He wiped his hands on his thighs and produced a flyer from his inner suit pocket. He unfolded it carefully and handed it to her. Charlotte blinked; whatever she was expecting from him, it wasn't this. She scanned the glossy paper, noting the times and days listed. "They're having a French film festival this week at the arthouse theater in Fresno, and I know you enjoy these sorts of films," Ricky began, twisting his fingers and fidgeting a bit more than usual.

The film festival started tomorrow and went through the weekend. On Friday, they were showing Occupation-era French films: L'Atalante, La Règle du Jeu, Les Enfants de Paradis, and Les Visiteurs du Soir. Saturday was, of course, devoted to Nouvelle Vague films: Hiroshima Mon Amour, À Bout de Souffle, Jules et Jim, L'Année Dernière à Marienbad (Charlotte made a face at that one. It reminded her of Caroline and the fact that she was very much not a Kubrick fan), Zazie dans le Métro, Les Amants, La Nuit Américaine, Paris Nous Appartient, and Les Dimanches de Ville d'Avray. She lamented the absence of documentary films, but it was still a good showing.

"Would you do me the honor of going to the cinema with me?" A part of Charlotte was rather surprised he hadn't taken her hand. For a moment she just stared at the flyer, not quite believing it. Then she looked up and saw how nervous he looked. His eyes were still wide, and he was wearing that all-too-familiar did-I-do-a-good-job? look again. He kind of looked like he had half a mind to snatch the flyer back and tell her to forget about it.

She waited a moment longer, tampering down the excitement that was building up in her as much as she could. She said yes, of course, offering him a slight grin. "I've wanted to see L'Atalante since high school." She traced the pictures on the sides of the flyer idly.

Ricky nodded, smiling faintly. "I remember." She turned and stared at him for a moment in surprise. She didn't even remember telling him that. When had she mentioned it? He laced his fingers together, moving his fingers.

Of the movies she'd already seen, several of them were particular favorites. She looked down at the flyer and then back up at him, her smile widening. "I never have anyone to go with anymore." That was half of the reason why she watched movies on Netflix more than in the theaters nowadays. Ricky gave her a meek smile, and then something occurred to Charlotte. She bit down hard on her lip, debating whether or not to ask.

But the joy bubbling up in her was just too hard to resist, and the question burst out of her before she could think better of it, "Is this a date?" She clutched her hands together in her lap, leaning forward a little in her seat. Ricky had been very still the whole time, but he didn't even seem to be breathing after this question. Instead, he stared just past her, just off to the side, contemplating it. He looked like he was searching for the right words to say.

Then he leaned a little closer to her, setting his hand on the console between the seats. "Do you... want it to be?" he asked carefully, absently tapping the plastic. He darted a glance at her before looking away, and she was silent. What did he want her to say? From another man, that might've been a challenge, but Ricky was too uncertain for it not to be real, right? She had deliberated a bit too long, though, because Ricky started talking again, so fast he was almost tripping over himself.

"I merely thought that, while I'm in town, it would be nice if we could... associate outside of the workplace in a less-formal setting." He was gesturing again, bringing his fingers together and then apart. His voice cracked mid-sentence, and he cleared his throat to cover. He kicked his legs out as if he had some kind of twitch. "You know, like friends do." Ricky said it, though, with a lilt of uncertainty, like he didn't know what friends really did, kind of made her heart break a little.

He was looking very determinedly at the steering wheel. He slid one hand into his pocket. "I understand if you're already engaged, of course..." Charlotte pondered the curious dual meaning and irony of his statement for a moment. "It's terribly short-notice, and I'm certain someone of your caliber must be in high demand elsewhere." He cast a brief, almost sad glance in her direction before once again averting his gaze. "I also understand if you would... prefer other company for the evening." He coughed weakly, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm hardly-"

She couldn't stand to hear him retreating anymore, insulting himself, deflating. She reached over to the dashboard blindly, grabbing his hand and stilling his steadily-tapping fingers. "Are you trying to get me to kiss you again?" Ricky did a double-take, clearly confused. His eyes widened, and he looked like he wanted to apologize all over again. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, saying nothing, and she patted his hand, smiling. "I thought I was clear earlier when I had my tongue down your throat." Ricky frowned, wondering what exactly she meant.

A somewhat frustrated Charlotte let out a little sigh and shifted to face him fully. Did she have to spell it out for him. A part of her, the _tipsy_ part of her, wanted to do something dramatic like kiss him and straddle him right then and there. She'd been staring at his mouth for the past couple of minutes, after all. Cooler heads prevailed, however. "I said yes, didn't I?" she replied quietly. To be honest, she would've said yes either way. "I'm not taking it back."

Ricky smiled, hesitantly at first, but then it grew into a wide, excited grin. She liked the way he showed his emotions so transparently. It endeared him to her even more. Charlotte smiled back, laced her fingers with his over the console, marveling at how nice it felt to hold his hand, to touch him. She felt his eyes on her, on their hands, and she could sense a question about to bubble forth and break whatever fragile thing had been established. "So... it is a date, then, Charlotte?" he asked hesitantly, his thumb tracing the side of her index finger.

She nodded and raised her gaze to his face, about to say something, but the words died on her lips. She'd almost forgotten, but now she really had to know. Charlotte jerked away suddenly, pulling her hand from his. "But what about your fiancée?" she demanded. She held the hand that had just been holding his as if it had been burned. It still sort of tingled, remembering the touch.

Charlotte didn't know if it was her imagination, but it seemed like Ricky was blushing a little. He gave her a look. "You know better than anyone that I'm married to my work." It was only through great effort that he managed to avoid calling her Miss Lu, but he hoped she got his message. She leaned her head to the side and considered it; that much, at least, was true. He paused, licking his lips, and he reached for her hand again, determined. "Besides, what reason can you have to suppose that I would make you an offer were there anyone else?" he countered, sounding a bit too much like Catherine de Bourgh for Charlotte's liking.

It didn't escape her notice that he hadn't actually answered the question. She found it strangely cagey of him, but, then, he'd always been cagey on the subject of his fiancée who may or may not exist. So much so that there was a company pool and a reward for anyone who could prove she did exist.

She let Ricky take her hand, mostly because she was surprised and liked him making a move in whatever their relationship was now. For his part, Ricky was all tangled up in knots inside. There were many things he wanted to say, but he couldn't find the words. They were all scrambled and knotted-up together in his head, and they formed the thick lump in his throat that cut off his words and choked his thoughts. Maybe he was also a little afraid of what he would say, of saying too much and scaring her off.

Charlotte opened her mouth to respond to that because there were many ways in which she could refute that statement, but she stopped. Ultimately, she trusted Ricky, and she didn't think he was the sort of man to ask her out when he currently had a fiancée. Besides, Ricky lacked the skill at deception and attracting women to pull something like this off. Ricky squeezed her hand. His palm was sweaty. "What did you want to say earlier?" he asked suddenly, looking all too happy to change the subject.

She froze, not expecting that question, and looked away. "Oh, nothing much," she said a moment too late, waving it off. She took a deep breath. Nothing much indeed, just those three little words... She didn't want to dive in so deep, not yet, not now. Charlotte could feel Ricky's questioning gaze on her, obligating her to say something. She turned to him and said steadily, "These past seven months, I've shared the most important part of my life with you." She pulled their hands closer to her and spoke her next words quietly, so he had to lean in to catch them. "I've wanted to be much more than your business partner for a long time."

She had expected some sort of effusive, awkward speech in response, but that was not what he did. Quite uncharacteristically, he acted in lieu of speech. She didn't know it, but his thoughts echoed hers. He was thinking things like, _I want you to be my partner in life and lately I've been thinking of you as the other Collins, rather than my father. Kind of a lot. I like thinking of you that way._ A look came over his face, one she'd never quite seen before. He kind of smiled brightly, but then it disappeared and a strange, almost conflicted look passed over his face. And then, without warning, he lurched forward, stretching over the console, one hand sliding across her cheek. He stared into her eyes for just a moment before his lips crashed into hers.

The hand that had been holding hers found her shoulder. Her hands came up to the side and back of his neck so that she could feel the firm muscle stretching underneath her fingers. Charlotte turned to move closer, stumbling up onto her knees and stretching over the console. If she could've moved into his lap without it being awkward, she might've attempted it for comfort's sake. As it was, she met him move for move, opening her mouth against his, more dazed than anything. She poured everything she had into the kiss. He was finally kissing her the way she wanted him to, unreservedly. His fingers wound their way through her hair.

And then, just as she was attempting to rationalize suggesting that they just head straight back to his hotel, he pulled away from her, breathing heavily. The console and emergency break had to be digging into some part of his body as they were for her, but the discomfort didn't show on his face. He was absently twirling her hair around his fingers. And then he said it, even though he didn't have to. "I've wanted that too." At that, she surged forward, intent on kissing him again, but the hand that had been on her cheek fell to her shoulder, holding her back.

"When do you go back to Hunsford?" he asked suddenly. Charlotte blinked and attempted to remember. It took her almost a full minute to recall that she hadn't specifically set a date for her drive back, though she'd originally intended to stay a full week. She told Ricky as much, and he looked disappointed until she told him her departure date wasn't set in stone. Then Ricky laughed, looking around them. "I should probably actually drive you home then, Charlotte." Her name came off his lips so casually that she just stared for a moment before it occurred to her to agree with him.

She honestly would've been quite fine with staying in his car for a while and making out with him until she couldn't feel her lips anymore, but it was probably better his way (plus Lizzie was probably blowing up her phone already, wondering why she hadn't texted that she'd gotten home safely yet). Charlotte beamed at Ricky as they both fastened their seatbelts. She would've held his hand, but him driving her home made that somewhat of a physical impossibility and distraction, so she settled for curling up as close to him as she could.

They did not drive to her house in silence, which surprised Charlotte. She thought she would have nothing to say once she and Ricky actually had an understanding, that they wouldn't need words. Or maybe she thought that it would be too awkward; she didn't know for sure. Either way, she didn't expect to have what was quite possibly the best non-business-related conversation they'd ever had, one that somehow managed to include memories from their childhood, family stories, favorite Game of Gourds moments, her attempt at a Catherine de Bourgh impression (bad, but it made Ricky laugh knowingly), Ricky confessing that he'd really wanted to be invited to do Costume Theater on Lizzie's vlog, Charlotte telling him that she'd had a crush on him since second grade, and a conversation about film. They even started to timidly hammer out some details for the future.

She appreciated that he was taking the long way to her parents' place so that they could have more time together (either that or he'd gotten lost, which was wholly possible). Now that he was here and she knew where they stood, she didn't want to be away from him.

He even complimented her work, telling her that he liked the kinds of stories she sought to tell and that more people deserved to see it. She'd never even been aware that Ricky knew about her sideline projects aside from the Diaries, so it was a bit of a surprise that her former boss was encouraging her to develop some of her own work. She hadn't expected to tell him all of the things she'd been thinking about him for months (well, not _all_ of the things, but most of them). She hadn't expected that they would just come out of her so easily and sound so natural.

Ricky even opened up a bit more about the fiancée thing, more than she could've ever anticipated he would. He said that, more than once, he'd wished _she_ was his fiancée. He'd promptly blushed afterwards, already beginning to apologize at being "too forward" or "overwhelming" or something to that effect, but she'd silenced him by patting him on the shoulder. He wasn't the only one blushing, after all, and so she'd told him that he wasn't the only one who'd wished that.

Eventually, though, they made it to Charlotte's building. It seemed like the time had just flown by, but when Charlotte looked at the clock she saw that it had been something like forty minutes since they'd left the bar. She got up, remembering the belongings that had fallen to the floor and picking them up, and then she left the car. Ricky scrambled up, locking the car, and informed her that he was going to see her to her door. Charlotte, who had been planning on kissing him goodbye and then heading back to her family's apartment, protested that it was unnecessary. Ricky, however, insisted, taking her hand and making his way towards her building with her in tow.

If she dragged her feet a little because she wanted to prolong the moment, Ricky didn't say anything, though he generally seemed to be in agreement with this. They made it all the way to her front door without incident, but then it came time to say goodbye, which meant a goodnight kiss. Now that they were in relative privacy, in a quiet place all to themselves, they got a bit closer and more carried away. So much so that before Charlotte really knew what was happening, she was pressed between Ricky and her front door with her fingers in his hair and her lips trailing down his throat. Her back hit the door with an audible thud. Then her hand made its way inside his jacket, her fingers skimming along his side until they reached the flat of his back. His lips found hers again, his hips pressing her even more firmly against the door. His thumb stroked her cheekbone.

She wasn't really thinking much, just that it felt really good, it was about time, and she didn't want to stop.

Unfortunately, shortly after that thought, right when she'd begun considering suggesting going back to his hotel room, they did have to stop. Unfortunately, the front door opened behind her. If it hadn't been for his hold on her, she would've fallen backwards and landed flat on her ass. In retrospect, really, she was surprised that he remained upright, that the two of them hadn't tumbled back into her apartment. As it was, she sent Ricky a grateful glance and turned around, abruptly disentangling herself from Ricky and steeling herself for the awkward talk with whichever parent had opened the door.

However, she turned around to face her younger sister, who was gaping at her like she'd never seen her before in her life. She hadn't expected to see her sister; Maria later explained that she'd come home for the weekend. Ricky was paler, no doubt embarrassed, but he was unsurprisingly the first to talk. "Miss Young Lu! It's so good to see you again!" he exclaimed with double his usual enthusiasm. Maria just blinked at him, no doubt still trying to wrap her mind around what she'd just witnessed. "Your sister and I were just discussing..." He trailed off, thinking a bit too long. All Charlotte noticed was the fact that he still had an arm around her.

"Some personal business."

"-The distribution talks for Game of Gourds," she offered up at the exact same moment. They exchanged uneasy glances.

Maria put her hands on her hips and gave them both a look that said she clearly wasn't buying it. Ricky cleared his throat, no doubt intending to explain further, but Maria cut him off before he could even begin. "I wasn't aware people could discuss _anything_ with their mouths pressed together. How on earth did you understand what you were saying to each other?" Maria said with a completely straight face that belied her amusement.

Charlotte felt herself flush. Ricky opened his mouth to say something else, probably to stammer out some sort of explanation, but Charlotte intervened, taking pity on him. She would explain this to Maria. "I'll see you tomorrow around three, Rick," Charlotte told him with a smile. She pressed a quick kiss to his lips before he could say anything else and, upon separating, murmured a goodbye that a dazed Ricky was only too happy to accept. He backed away and ran into the door frame twice on his way out because he was so distracted and hadn't taken his eyes off of her.

Maria gave her a wide-eyed, excited look that was sister code for "Oh my God, tell me everything!" Charlotte merely turned around and shut the door, waiting for Maria to use her words. Which she did after a few moments during which Charlotte kicked off her shoes, divested herself of her purse, and began straightening her clothes. "_What_ is going on between you and Mr. Collins?!"

Charlotte turned to look at her sister and shrugged. She thought it over for a moment before telling her sister the truth as she saw it. "I'm not entirely sure." Maria frowned, somewhat disappointed with the answer. Charlotte bit her lip, trying to suppress her smile. "But something," she added a bit later, hoping to satisfy her sister. Since she had no response ready, Charlotte headed towards her bedroom, very aware that Maria was following her.

"Is this why Lizzie texted me asking me so many weird questions?" she asked. "Like when you and Ricky got on a first-name basis?" Charlotte snorted and just barely avoided saying that she was sure Lizzie had much better things to do than text her kid sister. Charlotte remembered at just that moment that she owed Lizzie a few texts, so she pulled her phone out of her pocket, beginning to tap out a message to the effect that she was safe at home and they'd talk at lunch tomorrow. "And you totally said something about seeing him tomorrow!" Charlotte nodded, sitting down on her bed and starting to shrug out of her blouse.

Maria continued chattering, "Is this why you've been smiling so much lately? And why you've been Skyping with Mr. Collins so much, and at night?" Charlotte shot her sister a surprised glance; had their mother really noticed that much, much less told Maria about it? Maria's eyes lit up. Charlotte was finding the word "energetic" an increasingly apt description for her baby sister. "It totally is!" She jumped onto Charlotte's bed, bouncing a little. "When did this happen? Are you in loooove with him? Is he a good kisser?"

Charlotte gave her sister a sidelong glance. "You don't really want to know that, do you?" she replied pertly. Maria frowned, thinking it over, and made a face. Charlotte snickered and got up to go change into her pajamas. She began shimmying out of the black skinny jeans she'd crammed herself into earlier. "Let's just say it's a recent development, but it's something we've been working up to for a while," she added a moment later, over her shoulder.

"You're telling me," Maria scoffed, polishing her nails on her shirt. The question must've shown on Charlotte's face because Maria moved forward, to the edge of the bed. "You think I don't remember that you had a thing for him in high school? Didn't you do that camera thing back then to impress him?" Charlotte grimaced at the unpleasant memory and at the fact that Maria was unfortunately right. Ricky had been interested in video production even back then. Then Maria laughed, fortunately interrupting Charlotte's unpleasant rehashing of that life-scarring moment. "But, really, didn't you notice the way he looked at you in the offices?"

Charlotte's eyebrows shot up, and she opened her mouth to ask the question, but Maria beat her to it by answering. "Yeah. From pretty much Day One of my internship, Ricky was looking at you all weird whenever he thought you weren't looking. Like all moony-eyed and puppy-like and stuff. He kept looking at you like he wanted to do something about it." Charlotte gaped at her younger sister, one leg in her pajamas, the other out. "Plus you got all weird when I asked you why you always called him Mr. Collins," Maria continued, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

Charlotte was still staring at her sister slack-jawed, and Maria fixed her sister with a particularly mischievous look. "If I stayed any longer, I was going to lock you two in the storage closet," she informed her solemnly. Charlotte peeled off her tank-top so that her sister couldn't see how her face burned. Looking smug, Maria handed her a t-shirt to sleep in. "Come on, people totally ship you two." Maria made a face at her sister as Charlotte took the opportunity to pull her shirt over her head. "Don't even pretend like you don't know what that means," Maria said sharply, "I know you're more fandom-literate than you let on, and that is why I took _this_!" She pulled her phone out of her pocket, scrolling to her pictures, and with the press of a button, she showed Charlotte a picture of her and Ricky mid-kiss.

It was a bit more sexual and intimate than Charlotte was comfortable with, and she was even more mortified that Maria had seen that, much less snapped a picture of the private moment.

Naturally, Charlotte's first instinct was to reach for the phone, but Maria was faster than she was and jumped backwards, holding the phone up over her head. "I am totally posting this to Twitter. And Facebook. And Tumblr," Maria taunted, waving the phone in the air. Charlotte once again reached for the phone, wanting nothing more than to delete it. "Come on, Charlotte, your followers and viewers deserve to know the truth!" she persisted, backing up toward the door as her sister followed her.

"And that's none of their business, Maria! Or _yours_, for that matter!" Charlotte made another grab for the phone, but Maria was still quicker.

"Oh, come on, most of them will be happy for you. Don't make me read you the YouTube comments for Episode 41!" Maria retorted, twisting out of Charlotte's way. "Literally half of the comments are about how cute you are together, and how cute Ricky is, and I saw at least two people say that you and Ricky are their OTP, okay?" When Charlotte merely blinked at her, not understanding this term, Maria rolled her eyes at her. "One True Pairing," she explained, "It means that... Oh, forget it!" Almost at the door by now, Maria stopped and typed a few things, evidently sending the photo to someone (or many someones).

Charlotte felt all the color drain from her face as she heard her phone sound by her bed. "MARIA!" she thundered, stomping over to her bedside table to retrieve her phone. She clicked on the most recent notification, mildly relieved to see that it was not posted to any one of the social networking sites she'd mentioned. It was, in fact, just attached to a text her sister had sent to her, _Your OTP forever._

She turned to look at her sister, who was wearing a faux-innocent look and offered up a shrug. "Chill, Char. Like I would broadcast your new relationship to the internet." Maria rolled her eyes, grinning. "I just figured you and Ricky would want photographic proof of how into each other you two are. I'm happy for you guys, really." Charlotte paled a little; Maria had sent that to Ricky? Oh God. "I got a glimpse of your phone earlier, and I think he texted you and like, wants to talk or something. So I'll let you do that," Maria said, kind of hanging on Charlotte's door frame and pointing at her sister. "But you are _so_ telling me everything tomorrow."

Charlotte nodded dutifully, looking down at the picture of her and Ricky and blushing. She secretly kind of wanted to set it as her phone background, but she didn't want to inadvertently traumatize or alarm someone who accidentally picked up her phone. And a part of her kind of wanted to keep that moment between them. Maria shook her head and left, closing the door, muttering something about lovesick sisters. Charlotte sat down on her bed and flicked to the text Maria had mentioned, which said that he'd had a pleasant evening and asked if she would be available to chat with him.

She smiled to herself and pressed the call button, glad and still somewhat unable to believe that she had something to look forward to when she got home other than her Netflix queue. She listened to the dialtone, fluffing the pillows behind her and attempting to make herself comfortable, growing more agitated with every ring. Maybe he wasn't back at his hotel yet and was still on the road? But then, just when she was almost starting to despair or consider calling him later, he picked up the phone. "Hey, Ricky. You said you wanted to chat?"

Ricky chuckled indulgently. "I just wanted to hear your voice. I like hearing your voice before I go to sleep." He went abruptly silent after that, fearing he'd said too much.

But Charlotte's smile just widened as she leaned back into her pillows. "Believe me, Ricky, I know the feeling."

- Loren ;*


End file.
